I 


STORIES 


OF 


HOSPITAL  AND  CAMP. 


BY 

MRS.   C.    E.    McKAY. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
CLAXTON,  REMSEN  &  HAFFELFINGER, 

624,  626  &  628  MARKET  STREET. 
1876. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1876,  by 

CLAXTON,  REMSEN  &  HAFFELFINGER, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


/V- 

J.  PAGAN  &  SON, 

BTEKKOTVl'K    FOtMiERS, 

PHILADELPHIA. 

^ 


COLLINS,   HKIXTKR. 


TO    THE  GREAT  HOST  OF  WOMEN 

GOOD  AND  TRUE, 

WHO,  AT  THEIR  HOMES  OR  IN  HOSPITALS,  REN 
DERED  TIMELY  AND  VALUABLE  SERVICE 
TO  OUR  SlCK  AND  WOUNDED 
SOLDIERS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


IT  is  now  more  than  a  decade  of  years  since  the  close 
of  that  great  conflict  which,  beyond  anything  else 
in  the  history  of  our  country,  tested  our  national  char 
acter,  and  by  its  results  gave  us  a  right  to  call  this  land 
a  land  of  freedom.  When  we  say  that  it  was  a  stupen 
dous  struggle,  which  gave  to  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
in  the  country  something  to  do  and  something  to  suffer, 
calling  on  each  to  renounce  some  pleasure  and  take  up 
some  burden,  —  to  surrender  the  present,  the  personal, 
tangible  good  for  advantages  that  were  general  and  to 
some  extent  ideal, —  our  words  do  but  faintly  set  forth 
the  reality. 

The  call  was  imperative,  the  stake  nothing  less  than 
our  national  life,  and  the  response  equal  to  the  grandeur 
of  the  crisis.  Everywhere  throughout  the  loyal  States 
was  set  up  the  altar  of  sacrifice,  and  everywhere  was  that 
sacred  altar  glorified  by  gifts  of  what  we  held  most  pre 
cious. 

But  while  we  who  live  to  see  this  day  may  rejoice  if  we, 
too,  were  privileged  to  lay  some  humble  gift  on  the  sacri 
ficial  altar,  shall  we  be  so  recreant  to  honor,  gratitude,  and 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

love,  as  to  forget  those  who  gave  themselves  ?  Who  did 
not  hold  life  itself  too  dear  a  thing  to  lay  down,  when 
rebellion  threatened  the  dismemberment  of  our  Republic. 
Who  were  not  behind  the  martyrs  of  olden  time  in  cour 
age  on  the  battle-field,  patience  and  self-renunciation  in 
fulfilling  the  new  and  hard  duties  of  a  soldier's  life,  for 
titude  under  suffering,  meekness  and  submission  in  the 
hour  of  death.  Should  we  not  often  call  to  mind  the 
bodily  pains  and  perils,  the  mental  anguish  and  bloody 
deaths,  through  which  these  grand  souls  wrought  out  for 
us  a  new  national  life  ?  And  ought  we  not  carefully  to 
teach  the  children  of  the  present  generation, — charging 
them  not  to  let  their  children  or  their  children's  chil 
dren  forget  what  it  cost  their  fathers  to  leave  to  them  a 
united  country;  and,  to  this  end,  gather  up  whatever 
may  be  within  our  reach  that  can  render  the  impression 
more  vivid  and  durable  ?  It  is  with  a  sense  of  this  duty, 
and  in  the  hope  of  preserving  a  few  fragments  of  this 
most  interesting  though  sorrowful  history,  that  at  this 
late  hour  I  turn  to  some  very  inadequate  notes  of  ser 
vice  in  military  hospitals,  and,  with  such  help  as  memory 
still  affords,  endeavor  to  make  them  worthy  an  humble 
place  in  the  records  of  those  eventful  days. 

For  the  active  campaign  and  the  battle-field  were  not 
always  the  greatest  hardships  of  a  soldier's  life.  Even 
on  the  field  of  carnage,  the  perilous  picket-line,  and 
trenches,  or  in  long  and  weary  marches,  there  was  that 


INTRODUCTION.  ix 

within  of  hope,  or  that  without  of  excitement,  to  nerve 
the  arm  and  bear  up  the  spirit  to  meet  the  crisis.  But 
with  what  sinking  of  heart  must  a  man  who  was  yesterday 
rejoicing  in  the  glory  of  an  active  and  adventurous  career, 
find  himself  all  of  a  sudden  lying  on  the  narrow  bed  of  a 
hospital,  maimed  for  life  by  the  loss  of  a  limb,  or  with 
the  warm  life-current  ebbing  away  through  a  wound  in 
some  vital  part  ?  It  was  here  that  the  true  spirit  of  the 
Christian  martyr  arose  triumphant  and  faced,  without 
blenching,  the  last  enemy.  Can  the  records  of  our  Revo 
lutionary  Fathers  show  anything  more  heroic  than  this  ? 
My  story  consists  strictly  of  personal  observations  and 
experience,  and  is  but  an  imperfect  record  of  incidents 
connected  with  forty  months'  service  in  our  military  hos 
pitals,  during  the  period  intervening  between  the  early 
part  of  March,  1862,  and  July,  1865. 

WAKEFIELD,  MASS.,  April,  1876. 


CONTENTS. 


PART  FIRST. 

CHAPTER  I.  PAGE 

FREDERICK  CITY,  Mi> 13 

CHAPTER  II. 
IN  THE  ARMY  OF  THE  POTOMAC 29 

CHAPTER  III. 
CHANCELLORSVILLE 34 

CHAPTER  IV. 
GETTYSBURG 50 

CHAPTER  V. 
MUTATIONS 57 

CHAPTER  VI. 
LOOKING  FOR  THE  FIFTH  CORPS 67 

CHAPTER  VII. 
WINTER-QUARTERS 79 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

CAVALRY  CORPS  HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT,  VA.        ...      91 

x 


CONTENTS.  XI 

CHAPTER  IX. 

FACE 

THE  FOURTH  OF  APRIL,  1865 127 

CHAPTER  X. 

AFTER  THE  SURRENDER        .        .        .        .        .        .        .136 

CHAPTER  XI. 
ALONG  THE  LINES 14? 


PART  SECOND. 

WITH  THE  FREEDMEN 157 

CHAPTER  I. 
MY  ANGELS 158 

CHAPTER  II. 
POPLAR  SPRINGS 165 

CHAPTER  III. 
DOMESTIC  RELATIONS  OF  THE  FREEDMEN      .        .        .        .174 

CHAPTER  IV. 
RELICS  OF  BARBARISM  .        . 182 

CHAPTER  V. 
A  DAY  WITH  THE  FREEDMEN 190 

CHAPTER  VI. 

MY  SABBATH  MORNING  SERVICE 197 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

PAGE 

LETTER  TO  A  SABBATH-SCHOOL 202 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
AUNT  BECKY'S  TROUBLES      .......    208 

CHAPTER  IX. 
REUNIONS 215 

CHAPTER  X. 
LETTERS  TO  JOEL  CADBURY,  ESQ .    223 


STORIES  OF  HOSPITAL  AND  CAMP. 


PART  I. 

CHAPTER   I. 

FREDERICK  CITY,  MD. 

HAVING  heard,  through  the  kindness  of  friends 
in  Boston,  that  I  might  find  work  to  do  for 
our  soldiers  in  the  general  hospitals  in  Baltimore, 
I  went  thither ;  but  as  my  attention  had  already 
been  directed  to  Frederick  City,  Md.,  as  a  place 
where  nurses  for  the  sick  and  wounded  were  much 
needed,  and  finding,  when  I  reached  Baltimore, 
that  Mrs.  Tyler,  who,  with  great  tact  and  skill,  had 
organized  a  band  of  nurses  for  the  Camden  Street 
Hospital,  had  just  received  a  requisition  for  more 
nurses  from  the  surgeon  in  charge  of  the  hospital 
at  Frederick  —  I  preferred  going  there,  and  accord 
ingly  accompanied  the  steward  of  the  hospital,  then 
in  Baltimore,  on  his  return.  The  hospital  at  Fred 
erick  City  consisted  of  two  large  stone  buildings, 
erected  as  far  back  as  the  time  of  Washington,  but 
2  13 


14  FREDERICK     CITY. 

well  preserved,  and  to  these  were  added  from  time 
to  time,  as  the  number  of  patients  increased,  long 
wooden  barracks,  each  of  which  would  accommo 
date  about  a  hundred  beds ;  a  row  of  fifty  on  each 
side,  with  a  sufficiently  wide  walk  between. 

Here,  as  in  all  other  hospitals  that  I  have  seen, 
was  much  suffering,  both  physical  and  mental ; 
depression  and  discontent  in  some  cases,  patient 
endurance  and  gratitude  in  many,  often  mingled 
and  relieved  by  touches  of  the  grotesque  and  ludi 
crous. 

On  the  23d  of  March,  1862,  occurred  the  battle  of 
Winchester,  Va.,  and  our  hospital  was  soon  filled 
with  wounded  from  the  battle-field.  Our  first  care 
for  them  was,  sometimes  before  they  were  taken 
from  the  ambulances,  to  administer  food  and  slightly 
stimulating  drinks;  then,  when  they  had  been  washed, 
wounds  dressed,  hair  combed,  bloody  and  torn  gar 
ments  replaced  by  others  clean  and  whole,  those 
who  were  not  badly  wounded,  would  sit  up  in  their 
narrow  beds,  or  walk  about  the  wards,  hobbling  on 
crutches,  or  with  their  arms  in  slings,  as  the  case 
might  require — cheerful,  sometimes  jolly,  often  con 
gratulating  themselves  that  the  case  with  them  was 
no  worse.  They  had  not  much  objection  to  being 
complimented  on  their  soldierly  appearance,  or  to 
our  expressions  of  admiration  and  gratitude  for  the 
bravery  of  our  boys  in  blue.  They  never  wearied 
of  recounting  incidents  of  the  strife,  and  a  willing 


FREDERICK     CITY.  15 

listener  would  generally  be  surrounded  by  three  or 
four  at  a  time,  each  anxious  to  tell  his  own  story. 
"  I  can't  help  thinking,"  said  one,  "  of  poor  Jemmie. 
He  was  so  badly  wounded  that  we  had  to  leave 
him  in  Winchester  to  die.  When  I  said  to  him, 
'  This  is  too  bad,  Jemmie,'  he  shook  his  head,  and 
said,  'Yes,  it  is  bad;  but  better  so  than  that  Stone 
wall  Jackson  should  have  come  into  Winchester.'  " 

A  slender,  boyish-looking  little  fellow,  in  de 
scribing  the  manner  in  which  he  had  escaped  the 
watchful  care  of  his  mother  that  he  might  enlist, 
excused  the  apparent  cruelty  by  saying  that  he 
always  hated  sceneses,  and  he  knew  if  he  told  his 
mother,  she  would  cry  so  that  he  could  n't  come. 
Poor  boy!  he  little  dreamed  of  the  sceneses  into 
which  he  was  rushing. 

Among  the  good  and  intelligent  soldiers  who 
came  to  us  at  that  time,  were  many  worthy  of  espe 
cial  notice,  but  of  these  I  will  mention  only  one. 
A  handsome  young  German,  named  Russell,  be 
longing  to  an  Ohio  regiment,  was  wounded  in  the 
arm.  The  wound  had  been  carefully  dressed,  and 
there  was  hope  of  saving  the  arm,  until,  walking 
across  the  floor,  he  stumbled  and  fell  with  his  great 
weight  on  the  broken  bone.  The  consequence  was 
great  inflammation  and  a  necessity  for  amputation. 
For  eleven  weeks  he  lingered,  at  first  doing  well, 
but  afterwards  sinking  until  he  was  gone.  During 
all  this  time  he  received  the  most  assiduous  care 


l6  FREDERICK    CITY. 

from  those  in  attendance  in  the  hospital,  and  daily 
presents  of  delicacies  from  ladies  in  the  town.  He 
was  always  glad  to  hear  portions  of  the  Bible,  or 
other  religious  books  which  were  read  to  him,  and, 
when  near  his  end,  the  last  rites  of  the  Romish 
Church  were  administered  by  his  favorite  priest. 
Still  he  had  been  reticent,  indicating  only  by  a 
pleased,  bright  glance  of  the  eye  his  appreciation 
of  what,  was  done  for  him.  I  was,  therefore,  the 
more  affected  when,  just  before  he  expired,  seeing 
that  he  was  making  an  effort  to  speak,  and  stoop 
ing  over  him  to  catch  his  parting  word,  I  heard 
him  say,  brokenly, 

"  I  want  —  I  want  — 

"  What  do  you  want,  Russell  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  —  what  —  what  I  will  do  for 
you  —  when  I  get  —  to  another  place  — 

The  dying  man,  doubtless,  had  in  mind  some  idea 
of  intercession,  as  inculcated  by  his  Church,  and 
gathered  up  in  these  few  words  the  whole  sum  of 
gratitude  and  affection  which  had  so  often  beamed 
from  his  beautiful  eyes. 

One  Sunday,  while  superintending  the  distribu 
tion  of  dinner  in  my  ward,  I  heard  footsteps  coming 
down  the  long  walk,  and,  looking  up,  saw  the  chief 
medical  officer,  preceded  a  little  by  a  gentleman  in 
citizen's  dress,  whose  appearance  at  once  riveted  my 
attention.  There  was  nothing  very  striking  in  his 
brown  suit,  white  cravat,  sallow  complexion,  heavy 


FREDERICK     CITY.  I/ 

gray  beard,  and  anxious  expression;  and  yet  on  the 
whole  he  was  remarkable,  and  I  stood  looking  at  him 
as  he  passed  down,  his  keen  eye  seeming  to  take  in 
everything,  especially  the  dinner  that  was  being 
served  out  to  our  men,  until,  with  a  slight  bow,  he 
turned  and  passed  out  at  the  side  door. 

"  Do  you  know  what  strange  gentleman  inspected 
our  hospital  to-day?"  I  asked  of  a  citizen  friend 
whom  I  met  as  I  walked  across  the  hospital  grounds. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  that  was  Dr.  George.  He  was  a  sur 
geon  in  the  Crimean  war;  owns  a  large  plantation 
in  Louisiana;  very  rich;  a  good  Union  man." 

A  few  weeks  afterwards,  when  our  hospital  and 
town  were  occupied  by  the  rebel  army,  I  compared 
notes  with  one  of  their  soldiers,  and  learned  that  this 
man  was  Stonewall  Jackson.  "  He  often  goes  into 
your  lines,"  they  say,  "  in  disguise,  and  so  acquaints 
himself  with  what  is  going  on  in  your  army."  Long 
after  the  war  was  over,  the  report  of  my  rebel 
friend  was  confirmed  by  one  of  Stonewall  Jackson's 
staff  officers,  Major  Riley,  whom  I  met  as  I  was 
travelling  in  Virginia.  He  said  that  he  was  ac 
quainted  with  the  fact  of  General  Jackson's  visit  to 
Frederick  about  three  weeks  before  Lee's  invasion 
of  Maryland,  and  that  he  visited  the  hospitals,  intro 
ducing  himself  as  Dr.  George. 

As  the  summer  passed  away,  we  had  frequent 
accessions  of  sick  and  wounded  from  various  quar 
ters,  and  a  sharp  contest  was  continually  going  on 

2*  B 


18  FREDERICK     CITY. 

between  those  who  were  striving  to  save  and  the 
grim  tyrant,  who  seemed  always  watching  at  the 
door,  waiting  an  opportunity  to  lay  his  icy  hand  on 
some  helpless  victim.  How  often  did  it  happen — as, 
indeed,  it  did  through  all  my  hospital  life— that  while 
some  most  severe  case  seemed  to  demand  my  special 
attention,  another,  perhaps  on  the  very  next  bed, 
whom  I  would  leave  comfortable  at  night,  would 
be  gone  in  the  morning.  Looking  for  him  I  would 
find  that  his  bed  had  been  taken  away,  and  did  not 
need  to  ask  why  it  was  removed. 

Then  there  was  the  frequent  departure  of  squads 
of  soldiers  pronounced  well  enough  to  rejoin  their 
regiments.  Going  forth  to  a  future  so  uncertain, 
we  could  not  say  farewell  without  the  greatest  in 
terest  and  anxiety,  and  often  the  trembling  voice 
and  tearful  eye,  as  they  gave  the  parting  hand,  tes 
tified  their  appreciation  of  our  solicitude.  Then 
tidings  would  come  of  some  of  these  that  they 
were  shot  in  this  or  that  battle.  One  such  case  I 
remember  with  great  sorrow.  It  was  of  a  young 
soldier  who  came  to  the  hospital  with  a  severe 
wound  in  the  hand,  and  was  at  first  very  much  de 
pressed,  and  suffering  from  homesickness.  He  had 
no  money,  his  wound  was  painful,  he  was  lonely 
and  distressed.  I  listened  to  his  grievances,  tried 
to  imbue  him  with  a  more  cheerful  spirit  and  with 
a  sense  of  the  greatness  and  worthiness  of  the  cause 
in  which  he  suffered,  and  gave  him  money  for  the 


FREDERICK    CITY.  IQ 

supply  of  his  immediate  wants.  He  at  first  de 
clined  to  receive  money,  saying,  "  Perhaps  you  need 
it  yourself  as  much  as  I  do,"  and  would  accept  it 
only  after  being  assured  that  I  could  spare  it  with 
out  the  slightest  inconvenience.  After  a  while  he 
would  come  to  my  quarters,  and,  sitting  through 
the  summer  evening,  make  free  confession  of  his 
past  sins,  especially  of  his  habit  of  swearing,  which 
he  said  he  had  never  dared  to  do  at  home.  He 
had  never  uttered  an  oath  in  my  hearing,  but  some 
of  the  men  in  his  ward  had  told  me  that  he  was 
shockingly  profane ;  and  I  begged  him  to  desist 
from  that  habit,  and  all  others  that  would  be  defil 
ing  to  his  soul,  and  to  seek  from  heaven  help  and 
strength  to  withstand  the  temptations  of  a  soldier's 
life.  "  I  do  sometimes  think,"  he  said,  "  that  I  will 
try  to  do  better;  but  the  army  is  such  a  wicked 
place.  You  don't  know  how  hard  it  is  for  a  sol 
dier  to  be  good."  So,  wishing  to  be  good,  but  still 
irresolute,  he  left  us  with  a  thirty  days'  furlough,  at 
the  expiration  of  which  he  was  to  report  to  his 
regiment.  I  heard  nothing  from  him  until,  long 
afterwards,  a  soldier  asked  of  me, — 

"  Do  you  remember  Gilbert,  who  was  here  last 
summer,  wounded  in  the  hand?" 

"  Yes ;  very  well.     Have  you  seen  him  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  saw  him  after  the  battle  of  Antietam, 
dead  on  the  field,  shot  through  the  head." 

Another,  from  whom  I  have  never  heard,   and 


2O  FREDERICK    CITY. 

who,  when  he  took  my  hand  at  parting,  could  hardly 
speak  through  his  tears,  said  to  me,  "  I  used  to 
swear ;  but  since  I  came  to  the  army,  I  hear  the 
boys  swear  so  wicked  that  it  disgusts  me,  and  I 
mean  to  leave  it  off.  I  read  my  Bible  now,  and 
pray  every  day,  and  will  try  to  live  a  good  life." 

So  we  went  on  until  after  the  battle  of  August 
3Oth,  generally  called  the  second  battle  of  Bull 
Run,  when  we  were  astounded  by  the  intelli 
gence  that  Lee's  army  had  crossed  the  Potomac 
into  Maryland,  and  was  marching  on  Frederick 
City. 

As  the  town  could  not  be  defended,  the  citizens 
prepared  to  give  him  as  silent  a  reception  as  possi 
ble.  The  home  guard  was  sent  off,  also  every 
hospital  patient  who  could  walk  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  town,  where  teams  were  seized  to  convey  them 
to  a  safe  distance.  Large  quantities  of  Government 
clothing,  blankets,  and  other  hospital  stores  were 
collected  and  burnt  on  the  grounds.  All  through 
the  town  window-blinds  were  closed  and  the  streets 
silent  and  deserted.  In  our  hospital  remained  a 
few  patients  who  could  not  be  removed,  and  the 
medical  officers  with  a  few  attendants  and  nurses. 
All  through  the  long  night  of  September  5th  we 
watched  and  waited  their  coming  with  intense 
anxiety,  wondering  what  would  be  our  fate  as  pris 
oners.  At  length,  at  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  of 
the  6th,  we  caught  the  gleam  of  bayonets  on  the 


FREDERICK     CITY.  21 

eastern  hill,  and  Stuart's  cavalry,  followed  by  Jack 
son's  infantry,  entered  the  town.  As  they  poured 
rather  lazily  along  through  Main  Street,  a  miserable 
band,  with  cracked  instruments,  struck  up  "  My 
Maryland ! "  but  the  music  soon  died  away.  A  squad 
of  horsemen  from  the  van,  dashed  up  into  the  hos 
pital  enclosure,  wheeled  around  in  front  of  one  of  the 
old  stone  buildings,  and,  presenting  bayonets  to  a 
few  medical  officers,  who  stood  leaning  on  the  bal 
cony,  demanded,  in  the  name  of  the  Confederate 
States,  the  surrender  of  the  post. 

During  a  brief  delay  in  finding  the  chief  medical 
officer,  there  was  time  for  a  short  colloquy. 

"  Our  men  must  have  been  asleep  to  let  you 
come  into  Maryland,"  said  a  hospital  steward. 

*'  Yes,"  replied  a  young  rebel  officer.  "  Many  of 
them  are  sleeping  at  Bull  Run  ;  more  on  the  Pen 
insula." 

Then  the  surrender  was  made,  protection  promised, 
and  guards  placed  at  the  doors  of  every  ward.  A 
Virginia  brigade  marched  in  and  bivouacked  on  the 
hospital  grounds.  As  they  filed  past,  we  saw  that 
each  man  had  a  watermelon  on  his  shoulder,  cap 
tured  from  neighboring  fields.  They  quickly  seated 
themselves  in  squads  and  began  to  devour  them, 
throwing  the  refuse  about  our  nicely  policed  grounds. 
It  was  but  the  beginning  of  sorrows  in  that  line, 
for  before  the  week  was  out,  the  place,  which  before 
had  been  a  model  of  neatness,  was  turned  into  a 


22  FREDERICK    CITY. 

pen  of  filth.  When  at  night  I  went  to  my  lodgings, 
just  outside  the  hospital  grounds,  as  I  stepped 
from  the  street  into  my  sleeping-room,  which  was 
on  the  ground-floor,  I  was  obliged  to  pass  over  the 
body  of  a  rebel  soldier,  insensible  from  fatigue  or 
liquor,  another  in  the  same  condition  was  stretched 
along  the  pavement  under  my  window,  while  a 
third  stood  sentinel  in  front.  All  through  the 
night  sleep  was  driven  away  by  the  continued  tramp 
of  troops,  and  the  rumbling  through  the  streets  of 
artillery  and  army  wagons.  This  continued  with 
little  cessation  for  two  or  three  days,  until  the 
whole  rebel  army  had  passed  through  the  town, 
and,  as  hour  after  hour  I  watched  them  from  my 
window,  the  sight  recalled  to  mind  a  little  couplet 
which  had  been  familiar  in  careless  childhood : 

"  Hark  !  hark  !  the  dogs  do  bark, 
The  beggars  are  coming  to  town," 

so  ragged  were  they,  so  filthy  and  squalid  in  ap 
pearance.  Yet  the  events  of  the  last  few  weeks 
had  borne  honorable  testimony  to  their  fighting 
abilities,  and  closer  acquaintance  proved  that  they 
were  by  no  means  ruffians.  Seeing  me  at  the  open 
window,  they  would  sometimes  stop  and  ask  hum 
bly  for  food,  and  when  I  gave  them  what  I  had  at 
hand,  they  received  it  very  thankfully.  When  I 
went  among  them  in  our  wards,  of  which  they  had 
taken  possession,  they  willingly  made  way  for  me, 


FREDERICK     CITY.  23 

and  manifested  the  greatest  gratitude  for  whatever 
I  could  supply  for  the  relief  of  hunger,  sickness,  or 
wounds.  In  my  own  ward,  which  was  constantly 
thronged  with  them,  we  held  long  conversations 
on  the  causes,  progress,  and  probable  termination 
of  the  war,  and  many  of  them  I  found  to  be  good, 
intelligent,  thoughtful  men,  having  implicit  faith  in 
their  cause,  in  God  as  their  especial  leader,  and 
next  to  Him  in  Stonewall  Jackson.  It  is  true,  they 
did  us  much  damage — appropriating  to  themselves, 
without  ceremony,  the  nice  clothing  and  delicacies 
which  were  given  in  trust  from  Northern  friends  for 
our  sick  and  wounded ;  but  when  in  leaving  they 
kindly  offered  the  parting  hand,  we  could  not  with 
hold  a  kind  response.  "  I  shake  hands  with  you 
as  a  Christian,  not  as  a  rebel,"  I  said  to  one  who 
had  made  himself  quite  a  favorite  in  the  ward ;  and 
many  of  them,  in  parting  with  our  men,  expressed 
the  hope  that  it  might  never  be  their  fortune  to 
meet  them  on  the  battle-field. 

"Are  you  tired,  soldier,  after  your  long  march?" 
I  asked  of  one. 

"No,  lady;  I  shall  not  be  tired  till  we  get  to 
Philadelphia." 

"  But  do  you  know  that  many  of  you  poor  fellows 
will  find  a  grave  before  you  get  to  Philadelphia?  " 

"We  expected  nothing  else  when  we  left  our 
wives  and  little  children,  and  they  are  as  dear  to  us 
as  yours  are  to  you-alls" 


24  FREDERICK     CITY. 

"  But  you  are  caught  in  a  nice  trap,  and  we  shall 
soon  see  you  rushing  out  of  town  much  faster  than 
you  came  in." 

"Perhaps  you  have  n't  heard,"  said  another,  "how 
we  fight  the  Yankees  in  Virginia  ?" 

"  No  ;  how  is  that  ?" 

"  We  fire  on  them  till  our  powder  is  all  gone, 
then  we  break  our  muskets  over  their  heads,  and 
hurl  at  them  fence-rails  and  rocks." 

"  Very  well ;  our  soldiers  can  fight  with  fence- 
rails  and  rocks  as  well  as  you,  and  you  '11  have 
plenty  of  that  sort  of  work  between  here  and  Phila 
delphia." 

"Have  you  ever  visited  Richmond?"  asked  a 
gentlemanly  young  private. 

"  No,  and  (unless  captured  by  you  rebels)  I  shall 
not  be  likely  to  have  that  pleasure  until  your  city 
is  again  peacefully  settled  under  the  STARS  AND 
STRIPES." 

"  Then  I  venture  a  prediction.  I  predict  you  will 
never  come." 

"  I  felt  just  as  you  do  about  the  old  flag,  two 
years  ago,"  said  a  rebel  major,  "  but  now  I  hate  it, 
and  was  glad  to  see  it  trampled  in  the  dust,  as  I 
did  yesterday.*  Your  army  is  whipped  now,  and 

*  He  referred  to  an  outrage  on  our  flag,  committed  by  their  sol 
diers —  tying  it  by  the  corners  to  their  horses'  tails,  and  dragging 
it,  followed  by  a  troop  of  shouting  horsemen,  through  the  streets, 
till  it  was  trampled  and  torn  into  shreds. 


FREDERICK     CITY.  25 

there  is  not  one  of  you  who  does  not  know  it.  In 
a  few  weeks  the  Confederacy  will  be  recognized  by 
European  powers  ;  General  Lee  is  now  on  his  way 
to  Pennsylvania.  In  Philadelphia  he  will  dictate 
his  own  terms  of  peace  — 

"  But  we  have  a  great  North  behind  us." 
"  So  have  we  a  great  South  behind  us." 
"  But  it  seems  to  me  not  to  become  either  party 
to  boast  just  now.    None  but  the  Lord  above  knows 
how  this  strife  will  terminate." 

"We  will  soon  let  you  know.  We  will  not 
keep  you  in  suspense  more  than  three  weeks  at 
furthest." 

So,  turning  on  his  heel,  he  left  us,  with  no  power 
to  controvert  his  assertions,  for  we  were  prisoners, 
and  knew  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  outside 
of  our  beleaguered  city.  Neither  could  we  wonder 
at  the  confidence  of  our  adversaries,  for  they  were 
flushed  with  their  late  victories,  and  laden  with 
spoils  from  the  bodies  of  our  slain  soldiers.  But, 
though  not  having  much  whereof  to  boast,  we  were 
hopeful,  continually  watching  in  the  direction  from 
whence  we  believed  deliverance  would  soon  come, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  sixth  day  our  straining  eyes 
detected  dark  masses  and  lines  in  the  distance, 
which  we  knew  were  neither  trees  nor  fences,  be 
cause  they  were  in  motion,  and  presently  the  dear 
old  flag,  never  so  precious  as  now,  appeared,  waving 
over  our  well-equipped  and  well-drilled  troops.  The 
3 


26  FREDERICK     CITY. 

columns  advanced  over  the  hills.  Now  a  line  of 
skirmishers  made  their  way  through  a  cornfield,  tore 
away  the  fence,  and  were  in  the  hospital  enclosure. 
We  rushed  to  meet  them,  took  them  by  the  hand 
as  brothers,  invited  them  in,  and  set  before  them 
whatever  we  had  at  hand.  They  ate  hastily,  and 
had  to  go  —  they  were  under  orders. 

Already  the  rebel  troops  had  disappeared,  and 
the  haste  with  which  they  jostled  and  crowded  on 
one  another,  as  they  skedaddled  through  the  town, 
was  pleasant  to  our  eyes ;  and  then,  when  our 
splendid  cavalry,  the  First  Maine,  made  a  charge 
with  drawn  sabres  through  the  streets,  there  was 
only  a  small  portion  of  their  rear-guard,  from  Stu 
art's  cavalry,  left  to  hold  skirmish  with  our  van. 
This  was  over  in  an  hour  or  two,  and  then  our  mag 
nificent  army  filled  the  town,  coming  in  from  vari 
ous  points — cavalry,  infantry,  artillery — until  it  was 
literally  jammed.  The  citizens  left  their  hiding 
places,  and  welcomed  them  with  a  frenzy  of  delight. 
Windows  and  doors  were  thrown  open,  joyful  con 
gratulations  passed  from  one  to  another,  flags, 
showing  the  stars  and  stripes,  and  the  red,  white, 
and  blue,  waved  from  the  windows  over  the  heads 
of  the  advancing  columns.  It  was  a  grand  moment, 
the  significance  of  which  no  show  of  welcome  or 
enthusiasm  on  our  part  could  outdo,  for,  having 
released  us  from  our  imprisonment,  they  were  press 
ing  on  to  the  fields  of  South  Mountain  and  Antie- 


FREDERICK     CITY.  2/ 

tarn,  which  many  were  soon  to  redden  with  their 
life  blood. 

Then  followed  those  fearful  days  and  nights,  dur 
ing  which  the  thunder  of  battle  scarcely  ceased,  and 
our  hospitals  were  crowded  with  the  wounded  of 
both  armies,  coming  back  to  suffer,  many  to  die. 
All  the  beautiful  autumnal  months  were  devoted  to 
the  care  of  these  sufferers.  In  some  cases  the  care 
ful  watcher  and  worker  would  be  repaid  by  seeing 
a  rapid  convalescence,  but  more  frequently  pained 
to  witness  declining  strength  and  eyes  growing  dim 
and  tinged  with  a  yellow  hue,  making  it  evident 
that  Death  had  set  his  seal  there,  while  the  victims 
were  wholly  unaware  of  their  approaching  fate. 
The  narrow  hospital  life,  with  its  wearisome  routine 
and  petty  exactions,  was  extremely  irksome  to 
convalescents.  Many  men  in  the  ranks  had  re 
fined  and  cultivated  minds,  others  had  bold  and 
adventurous  natures,  and  to  them  the  restrictions  of 
the  hospital  were  a  greater  hardship  than  the  active 
campaign,  and  they  came  to  look  upon  themselves  as 
prisoners,  and  the  regulations,  to  which  they  were 
obliged  to  submit,  as  unjust.  Their  present  sur 
roundings  were  distasteful,  the  future  looked  dark 
and  unpromising.  What  wonder,  if  the  air  was  at 
times  rife  with  complaints,  and  a  word  of  cheer 
seemed  almost  a  mockery.  Often,  when  surrounded 
by  these  scenes  and  similar  ones  in  other  hospitals, 
bewildered  and  almost  despairing  at  the  sight  of 


28  FREDERICK     CITY. 

woes  to  which  I  could  bring  only  slight  alleviation, 
I  would,  as  a  last  effort,  strive  to  inspire  these  sink 
ing  hearts  with  the  hope  that  out  of  the  present 
darkness  and  distress  God  would  bring  some  bless 
ing  to  our  country  and  our  race  so  grand,  so  far  be 
yond  our  present  comprehension,  that  we,  behold 
ing  it  in  the  future,  would  be  satisfied. 

But  for  the  sufferers  in  the  Frederick  City  hospi 
tals  there  was  one  source  of  comfort  which  they 
can  never  forget  —  the  visits  of  the  warm-hearted, 
loyal,  generous  women  who  daily  came  in  bands, 
bringing  and  distributing  through  the  wards  their 
gifts  of  delicacies  to  tempt  the  appetite,  reading 
matter,  paper  and  envelopes,  always  with  such  words 
of  cheer,  comfort,  praise,  and  gratitude,  that  faint 
ing  hearts  were  reassured,  and  to  die  for  one's 
country  seemed,  in  their  presence,  "sweet  and  de 
corous." 


CHAPTER   II. 

IN  THE  ARMY  OF   THE   POTOMAC. 

THE  first  battle  of  Fredericksburg  was  fought 
in  December,  1862.  Wounded  men  in  great 
numbers  were  brought  to  Washington.  Many  of 
the  churches  and  Government  buildings  in  Wash 
ington,  Georgetown,  and  Alexandria  were  turned 
into  hospitals,  and  new  hospitals  were  established 
in  the  environs  of  the  city.  Who  that  saw  the 
Patent  Office  at  that  time  will  ever  forget  its  great 
halls  and  corridors  filled  with  rows  of  pale-faced 
sufferers,  while  there  again  the  gloom  was  relieved 
by  the  presence  of  faithful,  true-hearted  women. 
Having  spent  December  and  a  part  of  January  in 
desultory  work  and  visits  in  these  hospitals,  my 
steps  were  led  to  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  It 
was  difficult  at  that  time  for  non-combatants  of 
either  sex  to  obtain  passes  to  the  front,  but  after 
much  delay  and  intercession  I  succeeded.  My  pass, 
from  the  War  Department,  was  dated  January  I2th, 
1863,  and  gave  me  permission  to  go  to  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac  with  supplies  for  sick  and  wounded. 
I  was  accompanied  and  assisted  during  my  first 
month  in  the  field-hospitals  by  my  friend,  Miss 
Harriet  Sharpless,  of  Pennsylvania,  whose  good 
3*  29 


3O  IN    THE    ARMY    OF    THE    POTOMAC. 

work  for  the  soldiers  there  and  in  other  places  is 
too  well  known  to  need  any  mention  of  mine.  We 
went  by  steamboat  to  Aquia  Creek,  and  thence  by 
rail  to  Falmouth,  opposite  Fredericksburg,  on  the 
Rappahannock. 

All  along  the  river  for  miles  stretched  the  white 
camps  of  our  army,  in  their  winter-quarters;  but 
among  them  all  I  sought  out  those  of  the  First 
Division,  Third  Corps,  then  the  Third  Brigade,  and 
Seventeenth  Maine  regiment,  because  in  the  latter 
were  a  brother  and  several  other  friends,  by  whose 
request  I  had  come  to  this  new  field  of  labor. 

A  tent  belonging  to  Major  West,  who  was  absent 
at  the  time,  was  appropriated  to  our  use.  Colonel 
Roberts,  of  Portland,  was  in  command  of  the  regi 
ment  at  that  time,  and  from  him  and  the  surgeon, 
Dr.  Wiggin,  and  the  other  officers,  we  received  a 
cordial  welcome,  and  the  best  of  such  accommoda 
tions  as  their  camp  afforded,  and  here  we  were 
speedily  initiated  into  camp-life  and  work  in  field- 
hospitals. 

Hitherto  the  sick  and  wounded  of  the  army  of 
the  Potomac  had  been  sent  to  the  Washington 
hospitals,  but  the  experiment  of  field-hospitals  was 
now  to  be  tried,  and  that  of  the  First  Division, 
Third  Corps  —  General  D.  B.  Birney's —  was  just 
being  established.  The  establishment  of  a  field- 
hospital  consisted  in  pitching  a  number  of  tents  in 
a  row  or  rows,  according  to  the  number  of  patients, 


IN    THE    ARMY    OF    THE    POTOMAC.  3! 

bringing  the  latter  from  their  own  more  narrow 
quarters  in  their  little  shelter  tents,  and  laying  them 
on  the  army  blankets,  which  had  been  spread  on 
the  ground.  Then  men  from  the  ranks  were  de 
tailed  as  attendants,  and  for  such  nursing  as  soldiers 
could  give. 

A  favorable  position  had  been  chosen  for  our 
division  hospital.  It  was  on  high  ground,  and  near 
a  house  which  furnished  lodgings  for  medical  officers 
and  lady  nurses.  It  commanded  a  fine  view  of  Fred- 
ericksburg,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Rappahannock, 
and  near  at  hand  were  the  Lacy  house  and  Phillip's 
house,  the  latter  of  which  we  regretted  to  see  in 
flames  not  long  after  our  arrival.  General  Lee's 
army  was  encamped  on  the  hills  around  Fredericks- 
burg.  The  river  being  narrow,  the  soldiers  of  the 
two  armies,  picketed  along  the  opposite  banks,  could 
easily  exchange  words,  and  sometimes  in  riding 
along  the  river  in  my  ambulance  I  would  stop  and 
listen  to  their  questions  and  replies. 

On  our  first  visit  to  the  hospital,  we  found  men 
in  burning  fevers,  or  with  rheumatism,  dysentery, 
or  frozen  limbs,  lying  on  the  ground,  with  no  nour 
ishment  but  the  common  soldier's  ration  of  hard 
tack  and  coffee,  or,  as  a  special  luxury,  beans  baked 
with  pork.  Here,  indeed,  was  need  enough  of  work 
and  supplies.  The  hospital  could  afford  us  nothing 
in  the  way  of  cooking  utensils.  We  were  welcome, 
however,  to  the  use  of  the  large  kitchen  fire-place 


32  IN    THE    ARMY    OF    THE    POTOMAC. 

in  the  house  where  we  lodged,  and  an  obliging 
colored  woman,  who  was  faithfully  serving  her  old 
master,  the  owner  of  the  house,  kindly  lent  for  our 
use  a  little  iron  boiler.  In  this,  with  the  help  of  a 
few  simple  utensils  we  had  brought  from  Washing 
ton,  and  the  tin  cans  which  had  contained  preserved 
fruit  and  meats,  we  were  soon  able  to  prepare  pud 
dings  of  corn-starch  and  farina,  gruel,  tea,  chocolate, 
soup,  beef-tea,  and  wine  jelly,  which,  with  good 
bread  and  butter,  and  our  canned  fruit,  were  a  great 
help  to  our  sick  soldiers.  By  degrees  our  hospital 
improved,  and  assumed  a  comfortable,  even  cheerful 
appearance.  The  doctors  were  pleased  with  our 
efforts,  and  gave  us  every  facility  in  their  power. 
General  Birney,  at  our  request,  sent  large  details  of 
men  into  the  woods  to  cut  poles  for  bunks,  until  all 
our  patients  were  raised  from  the  ground,  and  placed 
on  beds  of  straw,  covered  with  blankets.  This  was 
indeed  a  step  in  the  right  direction,  and  none  who 
were  at  that  time  inmates  of  our  hospital,  can  ever 
forget  Mrs.  Birney's  visits,  her  untiring  efforts  for 
the  comfort  of  the  men,  and  the  cheer  and  encour 
agement  that  her  sweet  presence  and  generous  gifts 
afforded.  It  was  also  through  General  Birney's 
kindness  that  I  was  after  a  while  furnished  with  a 
nice  cooking-stove,  which  was  brought  up  from 
Aquia  Creek,  and  installed  in  its  place  with  great 
rejoicing,  Mrs.  Birney  assisting  at  the  important 
ceremony.  Large  quantities  of  supplies  were  fur- 


IN  THE  ARMY  OF  THE  POTOMAC.     33 

nished  by  the  Sanitary  Commission,  valuable  boxes 
were  sent  from  friends  at  the  North,  and  also  from 
friends  of  the  Birneys,  in  Philadelphia,  and  our 
special  diet  table  soon  showed  an  extensive  variety. 
In  the  spring  the  army  was  re-organized,  camps 
were  changed,  and  our  division,  with  its  hospital, 
was  removed  to  Potomac  Creek,  four  or  five  miles 

from  Falmouth 

C 


CHAPTER   III. 

CHANCEL  L  ORS  VILLE, 

WITH  the  first  of  May  came  the  battle  of 
Chancellorsville.  This  was  ten  or  twelve 
miles  from  our  hospital  on  Potomac  Creek,  on  the 
south  side  of  the  Rappahannock.  At  an  early  hour 
on  Sunday  morning,  May  3d,  I  left  the  hospital  and 
went  out  towards  the  battle-field,  my  ambulance 
well  loaded  with  sanitary  supplies,  and  a  young 
soldier  from  the  hospital  for  an  assistant.  Never 
can  I  forget  that  morning.  The  fearful  roar  of  ar 
tillery,  which  had  scarcely  been  interrupted  since 
daylight ;  the  clear  shining  of  the  sun  in  the  lovely 
spring  morning ;  our  way,  partly  through  deserted 
camps  — those  rude  homes  whence  so  many  noble 
souls  had  just  gone  out,  even  then  many  of  them 
lying  dead  on  the  battle-field;  long  trains  of  army 
wagons  moving  slowly  towards  the  front ;  couriers 
rushing  back  and  forth.  A  mounted  patrol  dashed 
up  to  us  and  demanded  a  halt,  but  dismissed  us  po 
litely  when  he  learned  our  purpose.  Just  across  the 
river  on  our  left  the  conflict  was  raging,  in  which 
the  gallant  Sedgwick,  with  his  Sixth  Corps,  was 
contesting  the  heights  of  Fredericksburg.  As  we 
drew  nearer  to  United  States  Ford,  over  which  our 
army  crossed  on  their  pontoon  bridges,  we  met 

34 


CHANCELLORSVILLE.  35 

squads  of  soldiers  slightly  wounded  making  their 
way  back  to  camp.  They  told  us  of  this  and  of 
that  comrade  or  officer  killed  or  wounded,  among 
the  latter  the  brave  General  Berry,  of  our  own 
corps,  whose  lifeless  body  was  being  borne  back 
to  Falmouth ;  and  General  Whipple  mortally 
wounded;  also  that  the  Eleventh  Corps  had  "shown 
the  white  feather." 

Just  before  we  reached  the  river  was  a  small 
house,  that  had  been  taken  for  an  hospital.  Horses 
were  picketed  around  it  in  all  directions;  quarter 
masters'  wagons,  with  their  tents  near  by;  a  throng 
of  soldiers  coming  and  going. 

Finding  many  wounded  men  lying  in  and  around 
the  house,  I  immediately  commenced  the  distribu 
tion  of  stimulants  and  nourishment.  Milk  punch 
and  crackers  were  given  to  all  who  could  take  them. 
Tea,  chocolate,  coffee,  and  beef-soup  were  prepared 
and  given,  not  only  to  the  wounded,  but  to  others, 
officers  and  privates,  many  of  whom  had  had  noth 
ing  but  a  bit  of  hard-tack  for  the  day. 

A  young  lieutenant,  lying  on  the  floor  with  an 
amputated  arm,  attracted  my  attention.  His  over 
coat  was  folded  under  his  head  for  a  pillow,  his 
sword  lay  near,  his  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  was 
so  pale  from  the  loss  of  blood  that  I  at  first  thought 
he  was  dead;  but  when  I  put  a  spoonful  of  stimulant 
to  his  lips  he  swallowed  it,  and,  opening  his  lips, 
asked,  faintly, — 


36  CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

"Are  you  from  Philadelphia?" 

"  No ;  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  so  kind." 

"  Do  all  the  kind  people  live  in  Philadelphia?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  his  poor,  pale  face  relaxing  with 
a  smile,  and,  closing  his  eyes  again,  he  murmured, 
"  mother !  " 

I  fed  him  occasionally  until  he  was  quite  re 
vived,  and  when  I  could  no  longer  do  so  myself, 
begged  a  guard  who  was  off  duty  to  attend  to  him, 
and  left  in  his  care  some  nourishment  for  him. 
He  begged  me  to  stay  with  him  through  the  night, 
and  I  would  gladly  have  done  so  if  possible.  I  did 
not  learn  his  name  or  his  regiment,  but  I  never 
think  of  Chancellorsville  without  recalling  his  pale, 
sweet  face,  and  wishing  to  know  what  became  of 
him.  Other  cases,  equally  or  more  distressing,  re 
quired  attention ;  and  so  passed  the  time  till  late  in 
the  night,  when  Dr.  Dexter,  corps  inspector,  came 
to  me  and  said  that  he  had  been  ordered  to  take 
charge  of  the  wounded  of  our  corps  on  the  south 
side  of  the  river,  and  asked  if  I  would  go  over.  It 
happened  that  the  chief  quartermaster  of  the  post 
belonged  to  our  division,  and  he  had  sent  word  to 
me  as  soon  as  I  arrived,  that  I  should  call  on  him 
for  anything  in  his  power  to  do  for  me.  I  therefore 
sent  to  him  immediately  requesting  a  pass  to  Chan 
cellorsville,  which  he  readily  gave,  and  in  a  few 
moments  I  was  in  my  ambulance,  leaving  one  scene 
of  suffering  for  another  still  more  terrible. 


CHANCELLORSVILLE.  3/ 

The  way  was  difficult  to  find  at  night.  Now  we 
were  entangled  in  a  thicket,  and  again  blockaded  by 
heavy  army  wagons.  In  going  down  a  steep  hill, 
my  driver  lost  his  balance,  and  was  thrown  from  his 
seat.  Perhaps  he  had  indulged  a  little  too  freely 
in  the  milk  punch  he  had  been  helping  to  adminis 
ter  to  the  wounded.  He  recovered  his  seat,  but  lost 
control  of  the  horses,  and  they  were  brought  up  by 
a  train  of  wagons.  It  was  nearly  midnight  when  we 
got  to  the  pontoon  bridge  across  the  Rappahannock, 
lying  so  smooth  and  white  in  the  clear  moonlight. 
At  length,  about  three  miles  from  the  river,  we  found 
the  large  brick  house  to  which  the  wounded  of  the 
Third  Corps  were  brought  from  the  battle-field.  As 
we  approached  we  saw  that  wounded  men  were  lying 
all  along  by  the  fences,  all  through  the  grounds, 
some  under  the  little  white  tents,  but  more  under 
the  open  heaven.  They  were  on  the  piazza.,  under 
the  piazza,  in  the  cellar,  through  the  halls,  in  all  the 
rooms  above  and  below,  while  cries  and  groans  broke 
out  where  the  agony  was  too  great  to  be  repressed. 
Some  stimulants  were  given  out,  and  a  closet,  not 
large  enough  for  a  man  to  stretch  himself  in,  an 
swered  for  my  store-room  and  dormitory.  Early 
in  the  morning  the  work  of  administering  food  and 
stimulants  began,  and  went  on  as  rapidly  as  possi 
ble  all  day. 

We  were  within  three  miles  of  the  front  line  of 
battle,  and  could  see  artillery  posted  in  various  direc- 
4 


38  CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

tions.  Colonel  Collis,  of  the  114th  Pennsylvania 
regiment,  was  at  the  hospital,  and  told  me  how  fear 
fully  his  regiment  had  suffered  in  the  fight 

"  I  hope  my  friend  Captain  Elliot  is  not  hurt." 

"  Captain  Elliot  is  dead." 

As  I  uttered  an  exclamation  of  grief  and  horror, 
another  officer,  standing  by,  asks: 

"Is  not  Lieutenant  Johnson,  of  the  i^th  Maine, 
your  brother?" 

"  Yes;  have  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  I  fear  you  have  to  hear  bad  news  of  him." 

I  felt  myself  growing  faint,  but  asked, 

"  Is  he  wounded  ?  " 

"  Wounded,  but  not  brought  in." 

This  was  equivalent  to  saying  he  was  dead  or 
taken  prisoner ;  yet  I  could  not  at  once  receive  the 
terrible  truth,  for  his  parting  kiss  seemed  still  warm 
on  my  lips,  but  before  night  I  knew  that  he  was  dead. 

Corporal  Whitcomb,  of  his  company,  reported : 
"  Lieutenant  Johnson  was  in  command  of  our  com 
pany,  and  leading  it  in  a  charge  around  the  brick 
house.  As  the  company  was  falling  back,  I  saw  that 
he  was  struck,  and  caught  him  in  my  arms  as  he  was 
falling.  He  rested  a  moment,  supporting  himself 
with  one  knee  on  the  ground.  'Are  you  hurt, 
Lieutenant  ?'  I  asked.  He  opened  his  shirt  bosom, 
and  said,  '  Yes  ;  it  has  gone  through  me.  Give  me 
water.'  Before  I  could  get  the  canteen  to  his  lips, 
he  was  gone.  Qur  regiment  was  moving  so  fast 


CHANCELLORSVILLE.  39 

that  I  could  not  get  help  to  carry  him  off,  and  was 
obliged  to  leave  him,  and  run  to  save  myself  from 
being  taken  prisoner." 

Efforts  were  made  to  recover  the  body,  but  he  fell, 
shot  through  the  heart,  as  the  division  was  falling 
back,  and  the  ground  was  in  possession  of  the  enemy. 
"  We  hope  to  recover  the  ground  to-morrow,"  said 
the  commanding  general,  in  answer  to  a  request  for 
a  flag  of  truce,  "  and  then  every  effort  shall  be 
made  to  recover  the  body  of  Lieutenant  Johnson." 
But  the  ground  was  never  recovered,  and  his  dust 
mingles  with  that  of  thousands  who  lie  in  nameless 
graves  on  that  fatal  field. 

Officers  were  constantly  coming  in,  who  reported 
all  things  favorable  to  our  side.  "  To-morrow  there 
will  be  a  great  battle ;  we  shall  have  a  victory,  and 
then  go  on  to  Richmond."  But  to-morrow  comes, 
and  no  sound  of  battle.  What  can  it  mean?  The 
silence  is  now  more  portentous  and  perplexing  than 
would  be  the  roar  of  artillery.  An  order  came  to 
send  off  the  wounded  men,  which,  we  supposed, 
was  preparatory  to  fresh  arrivals  from  the  coming 
battle.  I  was  just  giving  directions  for  having  the 
floors  cleansed  from  stains  and  pools  of  blood,  when 
Dr.  Harris,  of  the  Sanitary  Commission,  came  in, 
and,  calling  me  aside,  told  me  that  I  had  better  be  in 
readiness  to  move  at  a  moment's  notice,  as  the  artil 
lery  was  changing  position,  and  there  was  a  probabil 
ity  that  the  house  where  we  were  might  be  shelled. 


4O  CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

I  immediately  began  to  pack  up  my  remnants  of 
supplies,  when  I  heard  Dr.  Dexter  call  for  my  am 
bulance  driver,  and  order  him  to  "  load  up  and  be 
off  with  me  as  fast  as  possible,  for  the  house  would 
be  riddled  with  shells  in  fifteen  minutes."  So  my 
ambulance  was  reloaded,  with  the  addition  of  two  of 
our  wounded  boys,  the  pontoon  bridge  re-crossed, 
the  hospital  on  the  northern  side  regained.  There, 
for  the  first  time,  I  learned  the  sorrowful  fact  that 
the  battle  of  Chancellorsville  was  a  failure  ;  that  the 
whole  army  was  falling  back,  that  by  to-morrow 
night  we  should  all  be  in  the  old  camp  again. 

NOT  ALL  ! 

Here  again  I  found  crowds  of  wounded  men  lying 
on  the  ground,  suffering  terrible  agonies  under  the 
hot  sun,  from  which  there  was  no  shelter.  I  had 
yet  in  my  ambulance  food  and  stimulants,  which  I 
lost  no  time  in  distributing.  I  found  other  women 
at  work  here — Mrs.  Fogg,  Mrs.  Eaton,  Mrs.  Hus 
band;  but  since  I  left  this  place  for  the  hospital  at 
Chancellorsville,  I  had  not  seen  a  woman,  and  did 
not  know  that  any  other  woman  crossed  the  river 
at  this  place  while  our  forces  were  on  the  south 
side,  excepting  "  Mary,"  the  vivandiere  of  the  I  I4th 
P.  V.,  who  was  a  brave  and  faithful  worker. 

Here  also  was  one  of  General  Sickles'  staff  offi 
cers,  Captain  Young,  waiting  anxiously  for  orders 
to  move  his  wagon  train,  and  from  him  I  learned 
the  terrible  tidings  that  we  had  lost  the  battle. 


CHANCELLORSVILLE.  4! 

"You  have  no  time  to  lose  in  getting  back  to 
camp,"  said  he.  "  The  trains  will  soon  be  in  mo 
tion,  and  then  you  may  find  it  impossible  to  get 
along."  One  of  the  wounded  soldiers  who  had 
come  with  me  from  Chancellorsville,  a  bright  young 
lad  from  a  New  Jersey  regiment,  had  remained  in 
the  ambulance  while  I  had  been  at  work,  and 
begged  to  go  on  with  me,  "  because  it  hurt  him  so 
much  to  move." 

Up  to  that  time  the  weather  had  been  fair  and 
bright,  but  just  as  I  stepped  into  the  ambulance, 
heavy  rain  clouds  came  up,  and  a  few  drops  of  rain 
fell.  Then  came  on  a  furious  rain  storm.  In  a  few 
hours  the  country  was  flooded.  Creeks  were  swol 
len  and  bridges  swept  away.  The  blackest  night  fell 
upon  us.  Wagon  trains  blocked  our  way,  What 
was  to  be  done?  Should  we  stop  where  we  were  till 
morning,  or  try  to  make  our  way  a  little  farther? 
With  the  greatest  difficulty  we  crossed  the  railroad, 
and  gained  the  white  house  near  "  Stoneman's 
switch,"  which  General  Whipple  had  lately  occu 
pied  as  head-quarters,  but  to  which  he  would  never 
return.  The  house  was  destitute  of  furniture  and 
unoccupied,  save  by  a  few  men  who  belonged  to 
the  headquarters.  In  one  of  the  chambers  was  a 
fire-place,  where,  with  a  few  stray  bits  of  wood,  a 
fire  was  made,  and  our  wounded  boy  was  brought 
up  and  laid  carefully  by  the  side  of  it.  A  little 
coffee  was  made,  which,  with  a  few  crackers,  served 
4* 


42  CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

for  supper.  My  soldier  attendant  was  soon  asleep 
on  the  floor,  and  after  a  while  I  too  wrapped  myself 
in  my  water-proof,  and  rested  on  the  floor  till 
morning.  Then  we  made  our  slow  way  towards 
Potomac  Creek.  Long  trains  of  ambulances,  hav 
ing  been  out  all  night  with  their  loads  of  wounded 
men,  came  up.  The  creek  was  swollen  to  the  di 
mensions  of  a  river,  and  the  bridge  on  which  we 
had  crossed  when  we  went  out  was  swept  away. 
We  had  to  wait  until  it  was  rebuilt,  but  that  was 
only  a  few  hours.  I  went  into  the  hut  of  a  colored 
woman,  who  kindly  let  me  use  her  fire,  and  pre 
pared  warm  drinks,  which,  with  crackers,  were  sent 
to  the  poor  wounded  fellows  in  the  ambulances. 
Just  as  my  own  supply  was  exhausted,  Mr.  Fay,  of 
the  Sanitary  Commission,  brought  in  a  new  supply, 
with  which  he  had  contrived  to  cross  the  creek  to 
us.  Never  were  such  supplies  more  important,  for 
these  men,  with  their  wounds  and  amputated  limbs, 
had  been  jostled  over  the  rough  roads  all  night  in 
the  ambulances,  and  had  not  tasted  food  since  they 
left  Chancellorsville.  There  were  plenty  of  soldiers, 
all  ready  to  lend  a  helping  hand,  also  the  vivandiere 
before  mentioned,  and  the  work  went  on  cheerfully, 
though  there  was  a  great  burden  at  our  hearts. 

Through  all  this  a  vague  terror  of  something  still 
more  fearful  lay  like  a  dark  shadow  on  my  thought. 
Our  army  was  falling  back.  That  grand  Army  of 
the  Potomac,  which  only  a  few  weeks  before  we 


CHANCELLORSVILLE.  43 

beheld  passing  in  review  before  President  Lincoln 
and  his  generals,  was  defeated.  What  if  the  enemy, 
flushed  with  success,  had  gathered  up  his  forces, 
crossed  the  river,  and  hurled  them  on  our  stunned 
and  demoralized  troops  ?  Surely  it  could  have  been 
done.  At  length  the  bridge  was  ready,  and  we 
crossed  the  creek,  the  trains  of  ambulances  follow 
ing,  and  among  those  who  came  out  to  bring  nour 
ishment  to  the  wounded,  was  sweet  Helen  Gilson, 
who  had  just  returned  from  Fredericksburg,  where 
she  had  been  ministering  to  the  wounded  of  Sedg- 
wick's  corps.  Our  hospital  had  been  greatly  en 
larged  since  we  left.  The  hills  around  were  covered 
with  the  white  tents  of  our  Third  Corps  hospital, 
while  those  of  the  Sixth,  Second,  and  Eleventh 
were  within  an  area  of  five  or  six  miles. 

Going  through  the  tents,  a  few  days  after  the 
battle,  I  was  surprised  to  see  an  elderly  man  whom 
I  had  often  noticed  lying  in  one  of  the  halls  at  the 
brick  house  at  Chancellorsville.  He  had  been 
wounded  through  the  chest,  mortally,  and  I  had 
not  thought  he  could  survive  so  long.  His  cloth 
ing,  torn  and  stiffened  with  blood,  had  been  re 
moved,  and  in  his  clean  clothes  and  comfortable 
bed,  I  did  not  at  first  recognize  him.  As  his  eye 
met  mine,  a  sweet  smile  of  recognition  displaced 
for  a  moment  the  settled  agony  of  his  features.  I 
took  his  outstretched  hand  and  asked,  "  How  are 
you?" 


44  CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

"  Going  fast." 

"  I  trust,  my  poor  friend,  that  you  find  yourself 
sustained  and  comforted  in  your  sufferings  by  the 
hope  of  a  better  life  to  come  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said.  "  I  have  not  neglected  that. 
I  have  not  been  forgetful  of  my  God,  and  now  I 
know  that  he  is  with  me." 

He  spoke  with  difficulty,  but  the  smile  was  beau 
tiful. 

Late  in  the  evening,  one  of  the  doctors  came  to 
my  tent,  and  asked  me  to  prepare  a  stimulating 
drink  for  a  man  who  was  fast  dying  of  his  wounds. 
I  prepared  the  drink,  and  went  with  the  doctor  to 
see  if  anything  further  could  be  done.  Making 
our  way  through  lines  of  tents  filled  with  the 
wounded  and  dying,  we  at  last  found  the  one  we 
were  in  search  of.  But  as  soon  as  the  doctor  looked 
in  he  stepped  back,  and,  closing  the  flap  of  the  tent 
said,  "  You  must  not  go  in  here.  The  man  cannot 
live  but  a  few  hours;  you  can  do  nothing  for  him; 
and  the  stench  from  his  wounds  is  so  dreadful  that 
you  could  scarcely  breathe."  I  would  not  argue 
the  matter  with  the  doctor,  but  left  word  that  the 
nurse — a  soldier  detailed  to  that  duty  —  should 
come  to  my  tent  for  something  needed,  and  re 
turned  with  him,  hoping  to  say  some  word  of  cheer 
and  comfort  to  the  departing  soul.  His  poor  body 
was  mutilated  beyond  the  reach  of  surgical  aid,  but 
his  mind  was  clear,  his  faith  in  the  saving  power 


CHANCELLORSVILLE.  45 

of  his  Almighty  Friend  unclouded,  and  the  dark 
valley  just  at  hand  had  no  terrors  for  him.  After 
talking  with  him  a  little,  I  took  his  pale,  cold  hand, 
on  which,  as  well  as  on  his  forehead,  the  death 
dews  were  already  gathering,  and  kneeling  by  the 
narrow  bunk,  commended,  as  well  as  I  could,  the 
parting  soul  to  the  great  deliverer  from  pain  and 
woe.  I  felt  that  the  heavenly  convoy  was  in  wait 
ing,  and  that  the  place  so  poor  to  mortal  sight  was 
none  other  than  the  gate  of  heaven.  He  was 
greatly  comforted,  and  telling  me  how  to  direct, 
begged  me  to  write  to  his  wife,  which  I  did  on  the 
morrow,  though  long  before  the  morrow's  sun  rose 
his  sufferings  had  ceased. 

His  wife's  answer  was  pathetic,  and  worth  pre 
serving  as  one  out  of  many  received  during  those 
sorrowful  days.  How  many  bereaved  ones  mourned 
without  even  the  comfort  of  knowing  that  a  friendly 
hand  had  touched  that  of  the  dear  departed. 

Here  it  is  : 

"  MRS.  C.  E.  McKAY. 

"'  DEAR  FRIEND. — I  feel  you  are  my  friend,  for  you 
were  a  friend  to  my  dear  husband.  I  now  will  try 
to  answer  your  kind  letter,  as  I  have  not  been  able 
to  write  before  this.  You  was  with  my  dear  com 
panion  just  before  his  death.  You  offered  prayer  at 
the  throne  of  grace  with  him.  You  asked  him 
about  his  spiritual  welfare,  and  you  say  he  was 
willing  to  die.  If  I  could  only  have  been  with  him 
in  his  last  hours,  I  would  give  all  this  world;  but  it 


46  CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

was  so  ordered  that  I  could  not.  I  was  ready  to 
start  twice,  but  waited  to  hear  further  word  from 
him.  The  letter  I  got  from  one  of  the  delegates 
did  not  say  whether  he  was  dangerous  or  not,  and 
I  thought  perhaps  I  would  soon  hear  further  word ; 
but  the  next  day  I  got  his  precious  Bible;  then  I 
knew  it  was  too  late  for  me  to  go  to  him,  for  I 
thought  he  never  would  part  with  that  precious 
book,  unless  he  knew  he  would  not  get  well.  When 
I  turned  its  pages  over  and  saw  the  marks  he  had 
put  in  it,  it  looked  as  if  it  had  been  done  with  care. 
In  one  place  where  he  had  turned  down  a  leaf,  it 
read  thus  :  '  Leave  thy  fatherless  children  in  my  care, 
I  will  preserve  them  alive,  and  let  thy  widows  trust 
in  me;'  so  you  see  by  that  he  thought  of  his  dear 
ones  at  home.  He  has  left  a  dear  home,  and  dear 
ones  in  it,  that  loved  him  as  they  loved  their  own 
lives,  and  more.  But  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  serve 
his  country,  so  he  left  all.  But  his  thoughts  were 
with  us,  and  his  letters  were  always  full  of  the 
kindest  words  and  instructions.  He  was  a  member 
of  the  Second  Presbyterian  Church,  and  was  much 
loved  by  a  large  circle  of  friends,  who  mourn  his 
loss.  I  feel  as  if  this  would  be  almost  more  than  I 
can  bear,  but  hope  God  will  give  me  strength  to 
bear  the  great  trial.  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness 
to  my  husband,  and  if  I  could  see  you,  I  would 
prove  a  friend  to  you.  I  hope  we  may  meet  on 
earth,  but  if  not,  may  we  meet  in  heaven. 
"  From  a  friend  forever, 

"  Mrs.  MARY  M.  TAYLOR, 

"  Newark,  N.  J." 

The  above  was  by  no  means  an  exceptional  case. 
It  was  often  a  matter  of  surprise  to  me  that  our  men, 


CHANCELLORSVILLE.  47 

brought  suddenly  to  face  death,  met  it  with  so  much 
calmness  and  resignation.  Almost  as  often  as  I 
would  remind  those  whom  I  knew  to  be  dying,  of 
the  infinite  power  of  Jesus  to  save,  the  rejoinder 
would  be,  "  Yes ;  and  he  is  willing"  One,  with  a 
powerful  physique,  and  apparently  in  robust  health, 
who  had  just  come  to  the  consciousness  that  he  had 
but  a  few  hours  to  live,  in  reply  to  the  question  if 
he  could  trust  his  immortal  soul  with  his  Saviour, 
looked  up  in  my  face  with  the  questioning  simplicity 
of  a  child,  and  asked,  "I  ought  to,  oughtn't  I?" 
I  think  the  form  in  which  the  question  lay  in  his 
mind  was  "May  I?" 

Captain  Elliot,  whose  death  has  been  referred  to, 
was  a  man  remarkably  prepossessing  in  personal 
appearance,  and  of  uncommon  amiability  of  char 
acter.  A  few  days  before  the  battle,  he  had  called 
at  my  quarters,  dressed  in  the  Zouave  uniform, — 
that  of  his  regiment, —  and  spoke  with  great  feeling 
of  a  visit  he  had  just  been  making  to  the  camping 
ground  of  the  last  winter;  riding  all  throught  it, 
and  lingering  tenderly  over  many  spots  dear  to 
him  by  reason  of  association  with  friends  and  com 
panions  of  his  camp  life.  Now  he  had  come  to 
the  hospital  to  see  Clifford,  one  of  his  men,  who 
seemed  to  be  in  the  last  stage  of  typhoid  fever, 
speaking  with  great  concern  of  his  situation,  and 
his  own  sense  of  responsibility  to  Clifford's  mother 
and  sister,  to  whom  he  had  promised  that  he  would 


48  CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

care  for  the  boy.  Laying  his  military  cap  on  his 
knee,  with  a  bit  of  paper  placed  on  the  top,  he  wrote 
the  following  note,  and  left  it  with  me  to  deliver, 
in  case  of  Clifford's  death. 

To  THE  EMBALMER  AT  FALMOUTH  STATION: 

You  will  please  embalm  the  body  of  Elijah  Clif 
ford,  a  private  of  my  company.  Do  it  properly 
and  well,  and  as  soon  as  it  is  done  send  me  word, 
and  I  will  pay  your  bill  at  once.  I  do  not  want 
this  body  expensively  embalmed,  but  well  done, 
as  I  shall  send  it  to  Philadelphia. 

FRANK  A.  ELLIOT, 

Capt.  Co.  F,  \\ajh  Regiment,  P.  V.,  Gen.  Birney* s Division. 

This  was  the  last  time  I  saw  dear  Captain  Elliot. 
Clifford  recovered,  and  I  saw  him  at  the  close  of 
the  war  in  robust  health,  but  the  last  I  heard  of 
gentle,  brave  Frank  Elliot  was,  that  he  was  seen 
engaged  in  a  hand-to-hand  conflict  with  several 
rebel  soldiers,  and  refusing  to  surrender !  Peace  to 
his  soul. 

The  two  months  which  intervened  between  the 
battles  of  Chancellorsville  and  Gettysburg,  was  a 
time  of  depression  and  discouragement  in  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac.  The  great  battle  which  had  been 
so  long  in  anticipation  had  been  lost,  and  with  it 
thousands  of  precious  lives,  and  of  those  who  had 
been  brought  wounded  from  the  field,  thousands 
were  dead  or  dying,  while  still  other  thousands 


CHANCELLORSVILLE.  49 

were  lying  in  the  hospitals,  suffering  unimaginable 
agonies  with  cruel  wounds.  Was  it  not  a  time  to 
try  the  bravest  souls  ?  How  faithfully  are  the  clos 
ing  scenes  of  our  life  at  Potomac  Creek  daguerro- 
typed  on  my  memory  !  The  carrying  out  of  sudden 
orders  for  breaking  up  the  hospitals,  and  removing 
the  sick  and  wounded  to  Washington.  Long  lines 
of  troops  moving  from  all  directions  towards 
Aquia  Creek.  Trains  of  cars  quickly  following  one 
another,  loaded  within  and  without  with  our  boys 
in  blue.  In  my  tent,  anxious  faces  of  women 
whose  husbands  had  gone  with  the  army,  we  know 
not  whither  or  for  what.  Captain  Fogg,  my  late 
brother's  friend  and  tent-mate,  as  he  took  his  last 
farewell,  and  mounted  his  horse,  saying,  with  pale, 
sad  face,  "  We  have  lost  too  much  to  give  up  now  ; 
we  have  something  to  avenge,  but  I  am  sure  that 
I  shall  go  next ;"  a  prophecy  which  was  in  a  few 
days  fulfilled  by  his  death  at  Gettysburg.  General 
Howard,  as  he  passed  through  our  camp,  stopping 
for  a  brief  farewell,  reining  in  his  horse  with  that 
one  left  hand,  which  had  done  and  was  still  to  do 
splendid  service  for  his  country.  Major  Lee,  riding 
back  eleven  miles,  in  the  early  morning,  from  the 
night's  bivouac,  to  embrace  once  more  his  young, 
tearful  wife  with  that  good  right  arm  which  a  few 
days  later  was  shot  away  from  the  shoulder-socket. 
5  D 


CHAPTER    IV. 

GETTYSBURG. 

WHEN  our  army  left  its  base  at  Aquia  Creek, 
and  moved  on  to  meet  the  rebel  army  in 
their  second  attempt  on  Pennsylvania,  the  field  hos 
pitals  in  Virginia  were  all  broken  up,  and  the 
wounded  sent  to  Washington.  Thither  I  followed, 
to  remain  in  Washington  until  we  should  see  where 
the  next  blow  should  fall. 

The  Washington  journals  of  the  4th  of  July  an 
nounced  that  there  had  been  fighting  on  the  1st,  2d, 
and  3d,  near  Gettysburg,  and  I  immediately  went 
to  Baltimore,  and  thence  to  Hanover  Junction,  the 
point  nearest  Gettysburg  that  could  be  reached  by 
rail.  From  this  point,  about  thirty  miles  distant, 
the  railroad  had  been  torn  up,  and  there  was  no 
conveyance,  either  public  or  private,  to  be  obtained. 

The  horses  had  all  been  sent  into  places  of  con 
cealment,  in  case  of  a  rebel  raid,  which  was  hourly 
expected.  Heavy  rains  had  made  the  roads  so  muddy 
that  it  was  impossible  for  pedestrians  to  cross  the 
street  at  the  station  where  I  had  stopped.  I  would 
probably  have  been  obliged  to  return  to  Washing 
ton,  but  for  the  kind  and  persevering  efforts  of  Mr. 
Montford,  military  agent  of  the  State  of  Indiana, 
who,  seeing  my  dilemma,  invited  me  to  join  a  party 

So 


GETTYSBURG.  51 

for  whom  he  was  seeking  transportation  to  Gettys 
burg.  I  gladly  availed  myself  of  his  offer,  and, 
after  having  waited  nearly  a  day,  we  found  ourselves 
seated,  or  rather  reclining,  on  bags  of  forage,  very 
near  the  canvas  covering  of  a  huge  Government 
wagon,  one  of  a  train  going  to  the  front  —  a  convey 
ance  which  we  thought  ourselves  fortunate  to  obtain. 
When  the  train  halted  for  the  night,  we  found  lodg 
ings  at  a  farm-house,  and  the  next  day  I  found  my 
division  hospital  near  the  battle-field,  five  miles 
from  Gettysburg.  There,  lying  along  a  little  stream, 
and  spread  out  over  the  adjacent  fields  and  hills, 
were  our  wounded  men,  their  sufferings  increased 
by  want  of  food  and  clothing.  Agents  of  the  Sani 
tary  and  Christian  Commissions,  men  and  women 
who  had  come  for  the  emergency,  medical  officers 
and  soldiers  detailed  for  hospital  duty,  were  all 
hard  at  work.  My  programme  for  a  day  at  Gettys 
burg  was  to  rise  as  early  as  possible  in  the  morning, 
and  send  out  everything  that  was  available  in  the 
way  of  food  to  the  wounded.  An  item  for  one 
morning  was  a  barrel  of  eggs,  and  as  it  was  impos 
sible  to  cook  them  all,  they  were  distributed  raw,  the 
men  who  had  the  use  of  their  hands  making  little 
fires  in  front  of  their  tents,  and  boiling  them  in  tin- 
cups,  for  themselves  and  their  disabled  comrades. 
Breakfast  being  over,  I  would  ride  to  the  town,  and 
gather  up  everything  in  the  way  of  sanitary  sup 
plies  that  I  could  get,  from  the  Sanitary  and  Chris- 


52  GETTYSBURG. 

tian  Commissions,  the  large  and  generously  filled 
storehouse  of  Adams  Express  Co.,  or  any  quarter 
where  they  could  be  obtained.  I  would  take  butter, 
eggs,  and  crackers  by  the  barrel,  dried  fish  by  the 
half  kentle,  and  fresh  meat  in  any  quantity,  and, 
having  seen  them  loaded  on  an  army  wagon,  would 
return  in  my  ambulance,  which  was  well  filled  with 
lighter  articles,  in  time  to  give  some  attention  to 
dinner.  The  remainder  of  the  day  would  be  de 
voted  to  the  distribution  of  such  stimulants  as  egg- 
nog  and  milk  punch,  —  which  would  be  prepared 
in  large  buckets,  and  served  to  the  patients  in  little 
tin-cups, —  or  supplying  them  with  clothing,  pocket- 
handkerchiefs,  cologne,  bay  rum,  anything  that 
could  be  had  to  alleviate  their  sufferings. 

The  way  to  Gettysburg,  from  our  hospital  was 
through  the  country  which  had  so  lately  been  a 
broad  battle-field, —  over  which  our  army  had  been 
repulsed,  and,  in  their  turn,  had  driven  the  rebels 
with  great  slaughter.  All  along  the  way  were 
mementos  of  the  fight — torn  garments,  haversacks 
and  canteens  that  had  fallen  away  from  their  owners, 
dead  horses  from  which  the  stench  was  intolerable, 
lines  of  breastworks  sometimes  coming  close  to  the 
road  on  each  side,  mounds  where  batteries  had 
been  planted,  heaps  of  fence  rails  or  stones,  from 
behind  which  sharp-shooters,  singling  out  the  most 
conspicuous  of  the  enemy,  and  taking  deliberate 
aim,  had  picked  off  their  victims  without  danger  to 


GETTYSBURG.  53 

themselves ;  near  the  town,  on  our  left,  the  ceme 
tery,  torn  and  ploughed  up  with  heavy  missiles,  still 
lying  around  in  the  midst  of  broken  monuments. 
Farther  on  our  left,  Round  Top,  the  pivot  on 
which  the  fate  of  the  battle  had  turned. 

Thus  passed  nearly  six  weeks  at  Gettysburg,  with 
little  variation  in  the  daily  routine,  save  that  which 
came  from  urgent  claims  of  special  cases  of  suffer 
ing,  which,  indeed,  were  many.  Men  with  both 
hands  amputated  or  disabled,  who  would  eat  noth 
ing  unless  I  gave  the  food  with  my  own  hands ; 
men  discouraged  and  desponding  from  loss  of  limbs, 
and  painfulness  of  wounds,  to  whom  a  few  cheerful 
or  playful  words  would  do  good  like  a  medicine ; 
men  dying,  to  whom  a  few  words  of  sympathy  and 
encouragement  as  to  the  future  were  so  precious. 

One  little  incident,  somewhat  out  of  the  usual  line 
of  work,  which  occurred  at  Gettysburg,  I  will  relate 
here,  not  for  any  special  importance  in  itself,  but 
because  I  have  seen  it  incorrectly  stated  in  print, 
and  as  illustrating  the  power  of  moral  suasion  — 
shall  I  say  woman  suasion  ? —  in  army  life.  A  soldier, 
greatly  excited,  rushed,  one  day,  into  my  tent,  and 
begged  me  to  come  a  little  distance  down  a  hill 
side,  and  stop  a  fight  between  two  men,  where,  if 
something  of  the  kind  was  not  quickly  done,  there 
was  likely  to  be  a  murder.  Without  a  moment's 
thought  I  ran  to  the  spot,  where  was  the  humiliating- 
spectacle  of  two  of  our  men,  their  faces  already 


54  GETTYSBURG. 

bloody  and  swollen,  grappling  and  fisty-cuffing 
each  other  with  the  fury  of  wild  beasts,  while  a 
dozen  or  more  of  their  comrades,  standing  around, 
were  urging  on  the  fight.  No  sooner  had  I  laid  my 
hand  on  one,  and  uttered  a  few  words  of  surprise 
and  shame  at  their  unsoldierly  conduct,  than  they 
drew  off  from  one  another,  and  relinquished  the 
fight,  though  not  without  mutterings  of  future  ven 
geance;  and  I  afterwards  heard  that  one  of  them 
deprecated  the  interference  of  the  zuoman,  which  pre 
vented  the  full  punishment  he  was  intending.  I 
attribute  the  success  of  this  effort  solely  to  the  fact 
of  my  being  a  woman,  and  believe  that  it  was  not 
so  much  my  personal  presence  as  the  suggestion 
of  some  mother,  wife,  or  sister,  far  away,  that  tamed 
their  ferocity,  and  shamed  them  out  of  their  bloody 
purpose. 

My  chief  embarrassment  at  Gettysburg  was  the 
want  of  a  stove,  and  all  suitable  means  of  cooking. 
My  only  resort  in  that  line,  with  the  exception  of  a 
chafing-dish,  heated  with  a  spirit-lamp,  that  I  had 
brought  from  Washington,  was  to  a  fire  in  the  open 
air  on  the  hillside,  over  which  were  stretched  long 
poles,  resting  at  the  ends  on  upright  stakes.  On 
the  poles  were  suspended  great  camp-kettles  and 
caldrons,  where  were  cooked  rations  for  from  a 
thousand  to  fifteen  hundred  men.  In  my  distress 
at  seeing  so  many  wants  in  the  way  of  special  diet 
that  could  not  be  met,  I  went  to  the  town,  and  hav- 


GETTYSBURG.  55 

ing  found  that  a  nice  stove  could  be  purchased 
there,  I  made  application  to  the  quartermaster  of 
the  post,  and  received  from  him  a  promise  to  buy 
the  stove,  and  furnish  for  it  immediate  transporta 
tion,  provided  I  would  send  him  a  requisition  to 
that  effect  from  the  surgeon-in-chief  of  the  division, 
approved  by  the  chief  medical  officer  of  the  corps 
hospital.  This  was  easily  done,  and  I  was  rejoic 
ing  in  the  hope  of  this  valuable  acquisition,  when, 
to  my  dismay,  the  requisition  was  returned  disap 
proved  by  the  medical  director  of  the  post.  I  then 
went  to  this  officer,  represented  our  great  need, 
and  begged  him  to  approve  the  requisition.  But  I 
might  as  well  have  appealed  to  a  rock.  He  was 
going,  he  said,  to  receive  some  stoves  from  Balti 
more  for  the  general  hospital,  which  was  to  be  es 
tablished  at  Gettysburg,  and  he  would  loan  me  one 
of  them ;  but  when  the  stoves  came  they  were  not 
adapted  to  our  use,  and  so  time  and  opportunity 
slipped  by,  while  scores  of  our  men  were  dying 
daily,  and  my  tent  filled  with  supplies  which  could 
not  be  suitably  cooked.*  Our  men  were  also  suf 
fering  for  want  of  sheets,  the  coarse  army  blankets 
being  their  only  defence  against  the  flies,  and  these 
were  terrible  on  their  wounds  in  the  hot  weather. 
I  have  seen  men,  with  both  hands  disabled,  crying 
in  helpless  agony  from  the  tortures  of  these  merci- 

*  Another  effort  to  purchase  a  stove  from  our  hospital  fund  was 
frustrated  in  the  same  manner. 


56  GETTYSBURG. 

less  little  insects.  When  I  entreated  the  medical 
director  to  furnish  us  some  sheets  from  the  Gov 
ernment  stores,  he  put  me  off  with  the  excuse  that 
he  would  need  them  all  for  the  new  hospital  which 
was  to  be ;  and  not  a  sheet  could  be  obtained  for 
our  division  hospital  save  a  few  that  I  begged  from 
the  Sanitary  and  Christian  Commissions. 

I  do  not  mention  this  conduct  of  the  chief  medi 
cal  officer  at  Gettysburg  as  an  illustration  of  the 
way  in  which  our  efforts  to  alleviate  the  sufferings 
of  our  wounded  soldiers  were  generally  seconded  by 
surgeons  and  other  officers,  for  the  majority,  so  far 
as  my  observation  extended,  were  kind-hearted  and 
sympathizing,  appreciating  the  difficulties  we  had 
to  encounter,  and  aiding  us  as  they  could, —  but  it 
does  illustrate  a  phase  of  the  difficulties  to  which 
women  working  in  our  military  hospitals  were 
liable. 


CHAPTER   V. 

MUTA  TIONS. 

IT  was  the  middle  of  September,  1863.  The 
three  brigades  constituting  the  First  Division, 
Third  Corps,  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  were 
pleasantly  encamped  on  three  hills  around  Sulphur 
Springs,  Virginia.  There  had  been  no  fighting  of 
importance  since  the  battle  of  Gettysburg,  in  the 
early  part  of  July,  and  the  soldiers  of  the  division 
were  slowly  recruiting  after  their  hard  summer's 
campaign  —  their  thoughts  going  wearily  back  to 
long  days  of  marching  over  dusty  roads  under  a 
merciless  sun,  or  to  "  Devil's  Den,"  "  Little  Round 
Top,"  and  "  Peach  Orchard,"  where  so  many  of 
their  comrades  had  perished. 

General  D.  B.  Birney,  division  commander,  grave 
and  dignified,  as  usual,  with  his  staff  of  gay,  young 
officers,  held  his  division  head- quarters  on  the 
grounds  around  the  springs,  which  in  happier  days 
had  been  one  of  the  most  popular  watering-places 
in  Virginia. 

But  mirth  and  festivity  had  given  place  to  deso 
lation  and  decay. 

The  large  hotel,  of  capacity  to  accommodate 
fifteen  hundred  guests,  had  been  demolished, —  it 

57 


58  MUTATIONS. 

was  said,  by  Sigel's  soldiers, —  and  creeping  roses 
trailed  over  the  shattered  walls,  and  around  the 
broken  pillars  which  had  supported  the  roof  of  the 
portico.  Across  the  way  stood  "  Rowdy  Hall  " — 
which,  as  its  name  implies,  had  been  especially 
dedicated  to  the  bacchanalian  revels  of  the  scions 
of  Southern  chivalry,  but  at  the  time  of  which  I 
write  used  as  a  hospital  for  our  sick  and  wounded 
soldiers.  A  semi-circular  row  of  little  cottages, 
fast  falling  to  decay,  running  from  the  large  hotel, 
fronted  on  the  lawn,  which,  ornamented  with  mag 
nificent  old  trees,  and  intersected  by  pretty  walks, 
descended  gradually  to  the  principal  spring.  Here 
a  little  octagonal  edifice,  which  covered  the  spring, 
was  gray  and  mouldy,  the  walls  of  the  cistern  were 
cracked  and  falling  in,  and  a  statue  had  fallen  from 
its  pedestal.  But  the  water,  strongly  as  ever  im 
pregnated  with  sulphur,  was  clear  and  sparkling, 
and  along  the  walks  which  led  to  it,  officers  and 
privates  were  continually  passing  and  repassing,  or 
reclining  in  little  groups  under  the  trees. 

General  Birney's  head-quarter  tents  were  pitched 
in  a  grove  on  the  edge  of  the  lawn  ;  his  table  for 
himself  and  staff  officers  was  spread  under  a  "fly," 
and  white  they  regaled  themselves  with  the  choicest 
supplies  of  the  head-quarter  sutler,  the  best  band  of 
the  division,  stationed  at  a  short  distance,  enter 
tained  them  with  charming  music. 

Each  regiment,  scattered  "  over  the  hills  and  far 


MUTATIONS.  59 

away,"  had  its  tent  hospital,  where  many  poor  fel 
lows,  no  longer  able  to  resist  the  combined  influ 
ences  of  fatigue  and  homesickness,  languished  on 
narrow  bunks  and  straw  beds, —  some  soon  to  die, 
others  to  arise  from  these  sick  beds  and  go  to  meet 
death  in  "  The  Wilderness,"  or  in  front  of  Peters 
burg. 

Aided  by  the  friendly  offices  of  Dr.  Lyman,  sur- 
geon-in-chief  of  the  division,  who,  I  grieve  to  say, 
was  afterwards,  as  lieutenant-colonel,  killed  at  Fort 
Fisher,  it  was  my  privilege  daily  to  visit  these  hos 
pitals,  riding  in  an  ambulance  from  one  to  another, 
looking  in  on  our  sick  and  discouraged  men,  so  far 
from  home  and  loved  ones,  and  taking  to  them 
whatever  of  nourishing  food  or  stimulant  I  could 
procure  from  Sanitary  or  Christian  Commission. 
Sanitary  supplies  were  scarce  at  that  time  and  place, 
and  to  obtain  them  I  had  to  make  frequent  visits  to 
Bealton  Station,  nine  miles,  or  the  pretty  village 
of  Warrenton,  seven  miles  away.  I  remember  re 
turning  once  from  the  latter  place  with  only  one 
paper  of  corn-starch  and  half  a  bottle  of  brandy, 
yet  these  were  well  worth  my  ride  of  fourteen  miles, 
as,  in  some  case  of  dysentery,  they  might  save  a 
life. 

But  these  pleasant,  busy  days  were  soon  to  end. 
One  day  I  went  by  invitation  to  dine  with  General 
De  Trobrian  and  his  staff  officers,  at  the  head 
quarters  of  the  brigade  which  he  then  commanded, 


60  MUTATIONS. 

a  mile  or  two  away.  It  was  an  elegant  dinner  of 
nicely-cooked  meats,  pastry,  fruit,  and  rich  wines, 
set  out  in  a  long  tent,  with  due  accompaniments  of 
white  linen,  glass,  and  silver.  The  General  was 
affable,  his  subordinates  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and 
"all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell,"  until  about 
five  o'clock,  when  some  sudden  presentiment  im 
pelled  me  to  return  to  division  head  -quarters.  There, 
where  a  few  hours  before  I  had  left  the  camp  mov 
ing  on  with  all  the  precision  of  military  routine,  I 
found,  to  my  amazement,  every  sign  of  hurry  and 
confusion. 

Orders  had  come  to  pack  up  and  march  immedi 
ately.  Tents  were  being  folded.  Papers,  bottles,  tin 
cans,  and  other  debris  of  camp  were  scattered  pro 
miscuously  around,  where  all  had  lately  been  neat 
ness  and  good  order. 

Saddled  horses  were  in  waiting,  orderlies  running 
hither  and  thither,  staff  officers  folding  blankets 
and  packing  their  valises,  and  just  before  the  sun 
went  down,  General  Birney,  followed  by  his  staff, 
rode  forth  from  the  beautiful  camping-ground  to 
place  himself  at  the  head  of  his  division,  which 
was  already  moving  over  the  hills  —  one  brigade 
being  headed  by  General  De  Trobrian  and  his  staff, 
with  whom  I  had  a  few  hours  ago  dined  so  leisurely. 

I  was  to  remain  until  the  next  day  and  come 
away  with  the  ambulance  train,  which  would  take 
our  hospital  patients ;  and  as  many  of  the  sick, 


MUTATIONS.  6l 

with  their  medical  officers  and  attendants,  had  been 
transferred  from  the  regimental  hospitals  to  "  Rowdy 
Hall,"  and  so  were  my  near  neighbors,  I  felt  no 
uneasiness  at  being  left  behind. 

But  at  night,  hardly  had  I  composed  myself  for 
a  quiet  sleep  on  the  stretcher,  which  served  me  for 
seat  by  day  and  bed  by  night,  when  I  was  awakened 
by  a  sudden  din  and  rush,  and  tramping  of  many 
feet,  mixed  with  sounds  of  multitudinous  voices, 
and,  running  to  the  window,  I  saw  that  troops  were 
pouring  into  the  grounds,  spreading  themselves  in 
all  directions,  and  some  were  already  kindling  their 
little  camp-fires,  and  boiling  coffee  in  their  black 
tin-cups.  Having  satisfied  myself  that  they  were 
Union  soldiers,  and  that  I  had  nothing  to  fear  from 
them,  I  returned  to  my  stretcher,  but  was  soon 
electrified  by  a  confused  sound  of  rushing  feet, 
voices,  and  rattling  sabres  in  the  adjoining  room, 
which  had  just  been  vacated  by  the  head-quarter 
clerks  — and  what  should  hinder  them  from  break 
ing  through  the  door  into  mine?  After  making 
hasty  search  for  curiosities  of  literature  among  the 
papers  left  by  my  late  clerical  neighbors,  they  began 
to  push  against  the  door,  which  was  barred  only  by 
the  weight  of  my  body  on  the  stretcher.  But  a 
'woman's  timidity  and  weakness  are  sometimes  her 
best  protection;  so  raising  myself  a  little,  and  put 
ting  my  hand  to  the  door,  I  said,  "  Please  don't 
open  this  door,  the  room  is  occupied  by  a  woman." 
6 


62  MUTATIONS. 

Had  my  voice  been  that  of  a  demon,  I  am  sure 
it  could  not  have  been  more  effectual,  for  no  sooner 
had  the  words  gone  out  of  my  mouth  than  my  un 
invited  visitors  rushed  pell-mell  from  the  cottage, 
and  I  heard  the  sound  of  their  retreating  steps  and 
the  clinking  of  their  sabres  far  down  the  brick  walk 
which  ran  by  my  door.  In  the  morning  I  found 
they  were  a  part  of  the  Sixth  Corps,  marching  from 
their  camping-ground,  near  Warrenton,  to  join  the 
main  body  of  the  army.  Some  of  the  officers, 
hearing  of  the  night's  disturbance  in  my  quarters, 
came  and  apologized  for  their  men,  regretting  that 
I  had  been  annoyed  by  them. 

I  did  not  understand  at  the  time,  neither  did  they, 
the  meaning  of  this  general  movement  of  troops, 
but  I  afterwards  learned  that  it  was  the  carrying 
out  of  Meade's  plan  for  circumventing  Lee,  who 
had  commenced  a  flanking  movement  on  our  right. 

That  day  wore  slowly  away,  but  the  train  of  am 
bulances,  which  we  were  constantly  expecting,  did 
not  appear  until  towards  night,  when  they  came 
into  camp,  with  orders  to  "  park  for  the  night ! " 
So  there  could  be  no  moving  till  the  next  day. 
During  the  night  which  intervened,  the  remainder 
of  the  Sixth  Corps  came  up  from  Warrenton  and 
bivouacked  on  our  grounds,  repeating  the  scenes 
of  the  former  night,  with  still  more  of  noise  and 
commotion,  though  I  was  not  personally  molested. 
They  began  to  move  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning, 


MUTATIONS.  63 

and  by  six  the  rear-guard  passed  out  of  our  sight, 
leaving  us  outside  the  lines  of  our  army,  in  a  country 
infested  by  desperate  bands  of  guerillas.  These, 
as  we  afterwards  learned,  had  already  been  plunder 
ing  a  sutler's  stores  at  Fayetteville,  between  us  and 
Bealton  Station,  and  spent  the  night  in  the  deserted 
camps  of  General  De  Trobrian's  brigade.  But  now, 
to  my  infinite  relief,  the  ambulance  train  came  in 
sight,  and  preparations  were  made  for  moving.  The 
sick  men  were  brought  out  and  placed  in  the  am 
bulances.  Then  the  hospital  property  must,  accord 
ing  to  orders,  be  loaded  on  a  large  army  wagon, 
and  nothing  could  move  till  that  was  ready  to  take 
the  lead.  I  was  already  sitting  in  my  ambulance, 
anxiously  watching  as  the  work  went  on,  and  wait 
ing  with  impatience  for  the  signal  to  move.  At 
length  the  old,  heavily  loaded  army  wagon  lum 
bered  along  to  the  front,  and  the  ambulances  one 
after  another  falling  into  line,  we  jogged  on,  just 
as  leisurely  as  though  we  were  not  within  the 
enemy's  lines,  and  no  fierce  guerilla's  watching  us 
with  covetous  eyes.  Never  did  a  more  defenceless 
train  bring  up  the  rear  of  a  victorious  army.  We 
had  no  escort,  and  even  the  non-commissioned 
officer  in  charge  of  the  train,  and  the  mounted  sur 
geons,  were  unarmed,  save  by  a  pistol  or  musket 
borrowed  from  sick  men  in  the  ambulances.  After 
thus  moving  along  about  two  miles  there  was  a 
dead  halt.  The  army  wagon,  with  its  heavy  load, 


64 

had  broken  down,  and  we  waited  an  hour  before  it 
could  be  put  in  readiness  to  go  on.  When,  at 
length,  we  moved  again,  and  came  out  of  the  timber 
land  into  the  open  country,  we  saw,  in  the  edge  of 
a  belt  of  woods  not  far  away,  groups  of  horsemen 
in  butternut  clothing,  taking  observations  of  which 
we  felt  ourselves  the  unwilling  subjects.  A  few  miles 
farther  on,  the  train  stopped  at  a  narrow  stream  to 
water  the  horses ;  and  as  I  was  exchanging  a  few 
words  with  the  officer  in  command,  who  had  just 
ridden  up  to  my  ambulance,  the  steward  of  the  For 
tieth  "New  York"  came  up,  in  great  consternation, 
and  begged  me  to  hasten  on,  as  information  had 
been  received  from  some  colored  people  on  the 
road  that  a  band  of  guerillas,  four  hundred  strong, 
was  in  pursuit,  and  would  doubtless  take  all  our  fine 
horses,  of  which  there  were  eighty  in  the  train,  if 
they  did  nothing  worse.  At  this  the  officer  galloped 
off,  set  the  train  in  as  rapid  motion  as  the  heavy 
wagon  in  front  would  permit,  and  having  proceeded 
six  miles  farther  without  the  attack  which  we  every 
moment  expected,  we  beheld,  to  our  great  joy,  the 
white  encampments  of  the  Eleventh  Army  Corps, 
which,  under  General  Howard,  was  guarding  Rap- 
pahannock  Station. 

Here,  as  my  occupation  was,  for  the  present, 
gone,  I  left  the  ambulances,  intending  to  take  the 
next  train  to  Washington,  with  which  there  was 
then  railroad  communication.  This,  however,  did 


MUTATIONS.  65 

not  start  for  several  hours,  and  while  I  waited,  an 
intelligent  young  civilian,  who  had  charge  of  a  tele 
graph  station,  offered  me  the  hospitalities  of  his 
home,  which  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 
railroad  car.  Here  I  sat  until  the  welcome  whistle 
sounded  along  the  road,  and,  as  the  train  stopped, 
was  assisted  to  climb  into  the  great  box  with  slid 
ing  doors,  dignified  with  the  name  of  car.  But 
here  a  new  difficulty  arose.  There  was  no  officer 
at  Rappahannock  Station  who  had  authority  to 
give  me  a  pass,  and  without  one  the  conductor  re 
fused  to  take  me,  even  a  few  miles,  to  the  next  sta 
tion,  where,  I  assured  him,  I  could  get  one.  In 
vain  I  explained  my  position  and  urged  the  neces 
sities  of  the  case.  In  vain,  a  kind-hearted  staff 
officer,  wearing  the  badge  of  the  Sixth  Corps,  in 
terceded  for  me.  The  inexorable  conductor  rudely 
pulled  me  out  of  the  car,  threw  out  my  valise,  gave 
the  accustomed  signal,  and  the  train  whisked  off, 
leaving  me  standing  astounded  and  alone  by  the 
roadside.  My  friend  of  the  telegraph,  seeing  that 
something  had  gone  wrong,  came  to  the  rescue, 
took  up  my  valise,  and  assured  me  that  I  should  be 
safe  in  his  car  till  he  could  telegraph  for  a  pass  to 
General  Howard,  whose  head-quarters  were  nine 
miles  away.  So,  remounting  the  car,  a  telegram 
was  sent,  to  which  there  was  an  instant  response, 
with  an  order  to  the  commander  of  the  post  to 
give  me  a  pass  to  Washington.  But  there  would 
6*  E 


66  MUTATIONS. 

be  no  train  till  the  next  day,  and  I  was  thrown  upon 
the  hospitality  of  my  new  friends  for  the  night. 
Fortunately  for  me,  their  kindness  was  equal  to  the 
emergency.  Several  of  "our  boys  in  blue"  dropped 
in  during  the  evening,  and  seeing  my  dilemma,  a 
council  of  war  was  held  in  one  corner  of  the  car, 
the  result  of  which  was  an  A  tent  pitched  along 
side,  its  top  being  about  even  with  the  floor  of  the 
car.  In  this,  when  I  retired  for  the  night,  I  found 
that,  by  the  skilful  arrangement  of  boxes,  blankets, 
and  rubber  cloths,  a  comfortable  bed  had  been  im 
provised,  where  I  passed  the  night  without  anxiety, 
though  sleep  was  somewhat  disturbed  by  the  cry 
ing  of  mules,  neighing  of  horses,  the  monotonous 
din  of  human  voices,  and  other  sounds  familiar  to 
camp  life.  Notwithstanding  a  heavy  rain  during 
the  night,  my  garments  were  kept  quite  dry  by  an 
abundance  of  rubber  blankets  spread  on  the  ground, 
and  disposed  around  generally.  In  the  morning, 
my  generous  host  opened  his  mess-chest  and  pro 
duced  therefrom  a  loaf  of  army  bread  and  plenty 
of  hard-tack,  of  which,  as  well  as  of  the  black  cof 
fee  in  the  inevitable  tincup,  I  partook  with  an  ex 
cellent  relish,  after  which,  armed  with  my  pass, 
which  no  rude  conductor  dare  gainsay  or  resist,  I 
was  kindly  assisted  to  mount  the  morning  train  of 
huge  boxes  bound  to  Washington. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

LOOKING  FOR   THE   FIFTH  CORPS. 

DURING  nearly  all  the  month  of  October,  1863, 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac  was  on  the  move, 
and  field  hospitals  broken  up.  It  had,  however, 
been  suggested  to  me  by  Colonel  —  afterwards 
General  —  Chamberlain,  then  commanding  a  bri 
gade  of  the  Fifth  Corps,  that  there  was  much  need 
of  such  work  as  I  could  do  in  the  regimental  hos 
pitals  of  his  command,  and  having  heard  that  the 
corps  was  at  Fairfax  Station,  fifteen  miles  from 
Washington,  I  took  the  cars  from  Maryland  avenue, 
one  pleasant  morning  towards  the  last  of  the  month, 
expecting,  after  an  hour's  ride,  to  find  Col.  Cham 
berlain,  and  confer  with  him  on  hospital  work  for 
his  brigade.  In  the  car — where  a  lady  was  fortu 
nate  if  she  could  secure  for  a  seat  a  box,  or  the 
knapsack  of  some  friendly  soldier —  I  was  glad  to 
meet  Mr.  Shaw  of  the  Christian  Commission,  of 
whom  the  last  I  had  heard  was  that  he  was  one  of 
a  party  captured  by  a  band  of  Moseby's  guerillas. 
He  was  soon  after  recaptured  by  some  of  our  own 
troops,  and  was  now  on  his  way  to  Fairfax  Station, 
where  was  one  of  the  great  chapel  tents  of  the 
Commission.  On  our  arrival,  we  found  that  the 

67 


68  LOOKING    FOR    THE    FIFTH    CORPS. 

Fifth  Corps  had  moved,  but  in  charge  of  the 
chapel  tent  were  my  friends  Mr.  Charles  W.  Jenkins 
and  Mr.  Williams,  who  welcomed  me  both  to  the 
hospitalities  of  their  tent  and  a  participation  in  the 
care  of  some  wounded  cavalry-men,  lying  on  the 
floor  of  a  little  wooden  church  near  by.  As  I 
might  be  obliged  to  spend  several  days  here  before 
I  could  find  means  of  reaching  the  Fifth  Corps,  a 
private  apartment  was  improvised  by  partitioning 
off  a  corner  of  the  tent  with  blankets  stretched  on 
stakes,  and  with  the  help  of  other  blankets  spread 
on  the  ground,  I  was  nicely  domiciled. 

After  a  few  days,  I  heard  that  the  Fifth  Corps 
was  at  Gainesville,  and  at  noon  took  a  down  train 
for  that  place.  At  Manassas  Junction  we  were  de 
tained  by  one  of  those  incomprehensible  difficulties 
which  sometimes  occur  on  military  roads,  and  had 
ample  time  to  look  out  over  the  plains  which  had 
been  the  scene  of  so  much  hard  fighting,  and  far 
away  to  the  fortified  heights  of  Centreville  ;  while 
some  soldier  boys  in  the  car  kindly  helped  to  be 
guile  the  tedious  hours  by  songs,  such  as  "  Who  will 
care  for  mother  now  ?"  "  When  this  cruel  war  is 
over,"  etc. 

So  the  afternoon  wore  away,  and  considering  the 
inconvenience  of  being  dropped  down  alone  and 
unprotected  in  the  night  at  Gainesville,  then  the 
temporary  base  of  our  army,  I  availed  myself  of 
an  upward  train  to  return  to  my  friends  at  Fairfax. 


LOOKING    FOR     THE    FIFTH     CORPS.  69 

It  was  late  when  I  reached  the  station,  but  the  full 
moon  showed  me  the  way  over  the  hills  to  the 
tent,  where  I  found  a  cheerful  welcome,  and  the 
much-needed  food  and  rest.  After  another  day  at 
the  tent,  having  received  positive  information  that  the 
Fifth  Corps  was  at  Gainesville,  I  again  took  the  down 
ward  train,  having  previously  sent  a  request  to  Col. 
Chamberlain  to  send  an  ambulance  for  me  to  the 
station.  Arrived  at  Gainesville,  the  rain  was  falling  in 
torrents,  the  roads  were  almost  impassable  by  reason 
of  mud,  and  there  was  the  usual  crowd  of  men, 
horses,  wagons,  and  tents,  that  one  sees  around  an 
army  base.  Looking  cheerlessly  around,  I  could 
see  no  ambulance  that  seemed  waiting  for  me,  and 
seeing  a  telegraph  office  near  by,  I  went  in  to  make 
inquiry.  There  I  learned  that  the  Fifth  Corps  had 
left  Gainesville  and  gone  out  towards  Warrenton; 
their  precise  destination  was  not  known,  but  an 
orderly  was  just  going  to  the  head-quarters  of  the 
Corps,  and  would  take  any  message  that  I  wished  to 
send  to  Col.  Chamberlain.  I  therefore  wrote  a  hasty 
note  to  the  Colonel,  handed  it  to  the  orderly,  and  sat 
down  in  the  telegraph  office,  which  was  also  the 
railroad  station,  to  await  an  answer. 

Oh,  those  weary  hours  in  the  stations  of  military 
railroads,  where  crowds  are  continually  coming  and 
going,  but  not  those  you  wish  to  see,  though  you 
are  conscious  that  each  new-comer  gives  you  a 
searching  glance,  wondering  if  you  are  a  spy,  or 
what  can  be  a  lady's  business  there. 


7O  LOOKING    FOR    THE    FIFTH     CORPS. 

Noticing  women  at  work  in  an  adjoining  room, 
I  knocked  at  the  door,  hoping  to  obtain  food  and 
shelter,  but  was  unsuccessful.  Towards  night,  a 
young  man  in  the  office  kindly  accosted  me  with 
the  very  practical  question  — 

"  Are  you  not  hungry  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  I  can  get  nothing  to  eat  here." 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  there  will  be  no  trouble  about 
that.  Come  with  me,  and  I  will  introduce  you  to 
the  landlady." 

So  giving  him  my  name  and  vocation,  I  gladly 
followed  him  to  the  room  whence  I  had  been  re 
pulsed  with  the  assurance  that  nothing  eatable  was 
to  be  had,  and  where  several  officers  were  seated 
at  a  table  bountifully  spread.  The  landlady  seeing 
me  so  well  vouched  for,  consented  that  I  should 
'partake  of  her  supper  on  condition  of  paying  be 
fore  leaving  the  table. 

Late  in  the  evening  the  orderly  returned,  and  I 
was  informed  that,  instead  of  giving  my  note  to 
Col.  Chamberlain,  he  had  left  it  with  the  mail  at 
Corps  head-quarters,  and  it  would  be  forwarded 
through  the  regular  channel,  by  way  of  Washington. 

I  had  now  got  so  far  into  the  good  graces  of  the 
landlady's  two  grown-up  daughters  as  to  be  al 
lowed,  through  their  intercession,  to  occupy,  at  an 
exorbitant  price,  a  small  room  for  the  night.  The 
next  day  it  continued  to  rain,  and  I  sat  at  the  win 
dow,  watching  our  soldiers  around  their  fires,  to 


LOOKING    FOR    THE    FIFTH     CORPS.  /I 

make  which  they  seized  on  every  combustible  within 
reach.  I  felt  grieved  for  my  hostess  when  I  saw 
her  garden-fence,  her  young  trees  and  shrubbery, 
her  wash-tubs,  rubbing-boards,  benches,  all  go  to 
feed  the  flames,  while  the  men,  in  rubber  blankets 
and  slouched  hats,  were  cowering  around  the  friend 
ly  warmth,  and  boiling  coffee  in  their  black  tin- 
cups.  Now  and  then  a  body  of  troops,  passing 
through  the  town,  would  come  up,  make  a  short 
halt,  and  then  move  on  through  the  pouring  rain. 

The  day  wore  slowly  away.  I  could  neither 
communicate  with  my  friend  of  the  Fifth  Corps, 
nor  —  a  railroad  bridge  having  been  washed  away 
by  the  rain  —  go  back  to  Washington. 

The  next  day,  however,  was  clear,  and  the  young 
man  who  had  been  my  sponsor  with  the  landlady, 
kindly  sent  a  telegram  for  me  to  Washington, 
asking  where  was  the  Fifth  Corps.  The  ques 
tion  was  telegraphed  from  Washington  to  army 
head-quarters  at  Warrenton,  and  the  answer  sent 
back  to  Washington,  and  thence  to  us,  that  the 
Fifth  Corps  was  lying  between  Gainesville  and  War 
renton,  five  miles  from  us.  Just  then,  Dr.  Weid- 
man,  of  the  Eighth  Pennsylvania  Cavalry,  came  in. 
He  was  in  charge  of  a  train  of  ambulances,  which 
had  come  from  the  Rapidan  with  wounded  cavalry 
men,  and  the  body  of  Major  Taggart,  mortally 
wounded  in  a  recent  fight.  He  was  now  about  re 
turning,  and  would  pass  through  the  camping 


72  LOOKING    FOR    THE    FIFTH    CORPS. 

ground  of  the  Fifth  Corps,  and  kindly  offered  to 
place  one  of  his  ambulances  at  my  disposal.  Hop 
ing  that  I  might  accomplish  the  object  I  had  in 
view,  I  gladly  availed  myself  of  the  offer,  and  was 
soon  moving  along  with  the  train  over  roads  made 
fearfully  bad  by  heavy  rains.  As  we  came  near 
the  place  which  had  been  indicated  as  the  camping 
ground  of  the  Fifth  Corps,  the  Doctor,  saying  that 
he  would  ride  on  and  find  Col.  Chamberlain's  head 
quarters,  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  galloped  away, 
but  after  awhile  returned  with  the  information  that 
all  of  the  Corps,  save  one  brigade,  had  moved — none 
knew  where — and  the  remaining  brigade  was  not  the 
brigade  commanded  by  Col.  Chamberlain. 

It  was  now  nearly  night,  and  growing  cold,  but 
my  only  alternative  was,  in  accordance  with  the  Doc 
tor's  advice,  to  go  on  with  the  train  until  we  reached 
Meade's  head-quarters  at  Warrenton,  where  I  had 
friends  who  would  provide  for  me. 

As  we  passed  through  the  pretty  town,  I  looked 
in  vain  for  signs  of  military  encampments,  but  re 
lied  on  the  Doctor  to  give  the  order  for  halting  at 
the  proper  place.  But  on  and  on  we  went,  the  long 
train  winding  slowly  through  the  town,  out  into 
the  open  country,  mile  after  mile,  with  no  word  of 
halt,  when  at  length  the  Doctor  rode  up  to  the  am 
bulance,  and  asked  the  driver,  "  Where  did  you 
leave  the  lady?"  He  was  shocked,  and  seemed 
really  distressed  when  he  found  the  lady  was  still 


LOOKING    FOR    THE    FIFTH     CORPS.  73 

in  the  ambulance,  and  with  many  apologies,  ex 
plained  that  he  had  been  detained  in  the  town  by 
the  unexpected  meeting  of  friends,  but  supposed 
that  I  would  stop  the  ambulance  at  army  head 
quarters. 

I,  on  my  part,  with  some  mortification,  explained 
that  I  had  looked  in  vain  for  head-quarters,  or  camps 
of  any  kind,  and  that  as  stopping  one  ambulance 
would  involve  a  halt  of  the  whole  train,  I  did  not 
feel  at  liberty  to  give  the  order.  I  begged  him, 
however,  not  to  give  himself  any  uneasiness  about 
me,  as,  in  such  an  emergency,  I  could  —  as  I  had 
done  before  —  spend  the  night  in  the  ambulance. 
That,  he  said,  he  would  not  venture,  as  we  were 
going  to  the  outpost  of  cavalry  pickets,  on  the 
Rapidan,  where,  a  few  nights  before,  had  been  a 
fight,  and  where  they  might  be  again  attacked  at 
any  moment.  He  could  not  send  an  ambulance 
back  now,  but  as  soon  as  we  should  reach  camp, 
would  give  me  fresh  horses,  and  send  me  back  to 
Warrenton. 

It  was  night  when  we  arrived  at  the  camp,  where 
the  figures  of  cavalry-men  grouped  around  their  fires, 
amid  the  thickets  and  underbrush  that  skirted  the 
river,  made  many  a  weird  picture;  but  the  Doctor 
was  too  thoughtful  of  my  safety  to  allow  me  much 
time  for  reconnoitring  a  post  which  had  never  be 
fore  been  inspected  by  a  lady.  He  ordered  fresh 
horses  and  another  driver  for  the  ambulance,  and 
7 


74  LOOKING    FOR    THE    FIFTH     CORPS. 

just  as  the  moon  was  rising,  we  left  the  camp.  The 
distance  to  Warrenton  was  about  nine  miles,  the 
evening  clear  and  cold ;  the  cavalry  pickets  posted 
along  the  line  were  out  of  our  sight,  and  as  we  rode 
over  the  open  country  alone,  we  were  constantly 
looking  out  for  guerillas.  Now  and  then  we  would 
be  challenged  by  a  soldier,  musket  in  hand,  but  he 
always  proved  to  be  of  the  Union  army,  and  let 
us  pass  on.  I  felt  more  anxiety  for  my  driver  than 
for  myself,  for  he  carried  with  him  the  proceeds  of 
the  last  pay  day,  and  falling  into  the  hands  of  gue 
rillas  would  involve  the  loss  of  several  months'  earn 
ings.  But  we  passed  safely  over  the  lonely  road, 
and  on  reaching  the  head-quarters  of  the  provost- 
marshal,  General  Patrick,  I  was  soon  safely  provided 
for.  Here,  with  many  thanks,  I  dismissed  my 
driver,  who  told  me,  when  I  met  him  several  months 
after,  that  he  returned  safely  to  camp. 

The  house  to  which  I  was  sent  was  that  of  Dr. 
Fisher,  of  the  Confederate  army.  In  the  parlor  I  met 
Captain  Baily,  of  the  Seventh  New  York  Regiment, 
who  was,  I  heard,  shortly  afterwards  killed  in  battle. 
The  family  had  retired  for  the  night,  but  a  pretty 
white  slave  waited  on  me,  and  I  was  at  once  made 
comfortable.  It  was  a  fine  house,  a  little  out  of  the 
town,  standing  on  an  eminence,  from  whence  sloped 
in  all  directions  beautiful  green  fields.  Our  troops 
were  bivouacked  on  the  grounds.  The  fences  had 
been  destroyed,  and  officers'  tents  were  pitched  in 


LOOKING    FOR    THE    FIFTH     CORPS.  75 

the  midst  of  the  pretty  flower-garden,  horses  were 
picketed  to  the  young  fruit-trees,  and  our  soldiers 
had  broken  open  the  outhouses  and  cellar  and  taken 
every  eatable  that  they  could  lay  their  hands  on. 
These  were  dark  days  for  poor  Mrs.  Fisher.  Her 
only  son  was  in  Stuart's  cavalry.  Her  husband,  hav 
ing  been  left  by  the  rebel  cavalry  in  charge  of  the 
post,  had  lingered  too  long,  after  our  troops  came  in, 
without  reporting  to  the  provost-marshal,  was  ar 
rested  as  a  spy,  and  sent  to  the  Old  Capitol  prison, 
in  Washington,  where  I  afterwards  saw  him,  and 
gave  him  news  of  his  family.  Most  of  her  slaves, 
of  which  she  had  possessed  many,  had  run  away, 
and  she  was  compelled  to  witness  the  destruction 
of  her  property  with  no  means  of  redress.  These 
were  inevitable  results  of  the  war  which  the  South 
had  waged  for  the  dismemberment  of  the  Republic, 
but  the  details  were  sad  to  see.  But  though  Mrs. 
Fisher  had  little  left  for  herself,  she  kindly  shared 
that  little  with  the  stranger  whom  the  enemy  had 
quartered  on  her,  and  I  in  return  interceded  with 
a  general  officer  for  the  protection  of  her  property, 
and  obtained  for  her  some  much  needed  supplies 
from  our  commissary. 

I  had  learned  at  the  provost-marshal's,  that  the 
Fifth  Corps  was  at  Auburn,  six  or  seven  miles  from 
Warrenton,  and  was  promised  a  wagon  for  the  next 
morning  to  go  there,  but  late  in  the  day  word  came 
that  they  were  hourly  expecting  orders  to  move, 


76  LOOKING    FOR    THE    FIFTH     CORPS. 

and  a  wagon  could  not  leave.  I  therefore  walked  to 
General  Meade's  head-quarters,  the  tents  of  which 
I  could  see  from  my  chamber-window,  and  engaged 
passage  for  the  next  day  in  the  mail-wagon.  Long 
before  I  thought  of  rising  in  the  morning,  the  col 
ored  housekeeper  came  into  my  room  and  .said  the 
head-quarter  tents  were  all  taken  away ;  and  look 
ing  out  I  saw  that  the  little  white  village  of  yester 
day  had  disappeared.  I  was  scarcely  dressed  when 
a  messenger  came  to  conduct  me  to  the  wagon, 
and  I  was  soon  moving  with  the  head-quarter  train, 
which,  after  going  about  seven  miles,  turned  into 
an  open  field  with  orders  to  encamp.  After  watch 
ing  for  some  time  the  process  of  setting  up  the 
tents,  I  asked  a  soldier  if  he  could  tell  me  how 
far  it  was  to  Auburn.  "  We  left  Auburn  half  a 
mile  back,"  he  said,  and,  to  my  surprise,  added  that 
the  little  white  cottage  and  contiguous  farm,  which 
I  had  noticed  as  we  passed,  was  Auburn.  As  it 
was  within  walking  distance,  he  kindly  offered  to 
escort  me  to  the  place,  and  so,  with  difficulty  mak 
ing  our  way  through  the  press  of  men,  horses, 
wagons,  etc.,  we  walked  back  to  the  house.  As  I 
approached  I  saw  signs  of  an  officer's  head-quarters 
on  the  premises,  and  on  inquiry  found,  to  my  infi 
nite  relief,  that  the  officer  was  none  other  than  my 
friend,  Colonel  Chamberlain,  in  command  of  a 
brigade  of  the  Fifth  Corps,  for  which  I  had  been  so 
long  looking. 


LOOKING    FOR    THE    FIFTH     CORPS.  // 

I  had  been  a  few  days  at  Mr.  McCormick's,  the 
owner  of  the  pretty  farm  called  Auburn,  when  the 
army  moved  again  on  their  way  to  cross  the  Rap- 
pahannock.  Having  watched,  from  the  door-step, 
the  Fifth  Corps  pass  by  until  Colonel  Chamber 
lain's  brigade  came  up,  and  seen  him  mount  his 
horse  and  take  his  position  at  its  head,  I  took  leave 
of  the  friendly  family  at  Auburn,  and  once  more 
in  the  mail-wagon,  "  fell  in  "  with  the  head-quarter 
train.  This  time  we  moved  only  a  few  miles,  to 
the  farm  of  Colonel  Murray,  an  officer  on  General 
Lee's  staff.  I  was  pleasantly  entertained  for  several 
days  by  Mrs.  Murray,  when,  finding  that  the  rees- 
tablishment  of  field-hospitals  was  postponed  to  an 
indefinite  future,  I  concluded  to  return  to  Washing 
ton.  The  Orange  and  Alexandria  Railroad  had 
been  torn  up  by  the  rebels,  but  was  now  put  in  re 
pair  by  our  troops,  and  an  immensely  long  train  of 
platform-cars  —  minus  even  the  boxes — was  in 
readiness  to  go  at  a  late  hour  in  the  day.  My  seat 
was  a  pile  of  mail-bags  on  the  open  car,  in  the  cold, 
dark  evening,  and  so  far  in  the  rear  that  we  could 
not  see  the  lights  of  the  engine.  Now  and  then 
picket-fires,  with  weird  pictures  of  soldiers  stand 
ing  or  sitting  around,  would  light  us  long  enough 
to  show  that  we  were  passing  through  some  fright 
ful  gorge,  and  the  next  instant  we  would  again  be 
in  total  darkness.  For  alleviations,  some  gentle 
men  found  an  armful  of  straw,  which  they  "happed" 
7* 


/3  LOOKING    FOR    THE    FIFTH     CORPS. 

around  my  feet,  and  strove,  by  every  cheerful  atten 
tion  in  their  power,  to  make  the  journey  tolerable. 
When  I  arrived  at  Alexandria,  and  was  lifted  off 
the  car,  I  could  not  know  by  personal  sensation 
whether  I  was  still  in  possession  of  pedestrian 
powers  or  not,  but  being  guided  to  the  Sanitary 
Home,  I  soon  regained  sensation,  and  being  kindly 
provided  for,  for  the  night,  the  next  morning  I 
crossed  the  Potomac,  by  ferry,  to  Washington. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WINTER  -QUAR  TERS. 

DURING  the  winter  of  1863-4  our  army  had 
its  base  at  Brandy  Station,  and  was  encamped 
in  that  vicinity.  Our  division  hospital  was  estab 
lished  near  the  station,  on  a  rising  ground,  and  near 
a  brick  house,  which  furnished  convenient  quarters 
for  the  medical  officers  and  the  lady  superintendent. 

Our  position  overlooked  in  all  directions  a  wide 
extent  of  country  on  which  had  been  much  hard 
fighting.  The  Hon.  John  M.  Botts,  who  lived  near, 
and  on  a  portion  of  whose  large  estate  the  army 
was  encamped,  told  us  that,  from  the  piazza,  of  his 
house,  he  had  witnessed  over  thirty  battles. 

But  the  contending  armies  were  now  in  winter- 
quarters, —  there  could  be  no  fighting  of  impor 
tance  at  present, —  and  our  hospital  work  was  con 
fined  to  the  care  of  the  sick,  of  which  the  number 
that  winter  was  not  large.  After  the  routine  of  the 
day  was  over,  I  would  occasionally  beguile  the 
loneliness  of  the  winter  evenings  with  my  long- 
neglected  pen,  writing  out,  by  the  dim  light  of  our 
commissary  candles,  sketches  of  such  incidents  as 
had  impressed  themselves  on  my  memory,  of  which 

79 


8O  WINTER-QUARTERS. 

a  few  may  be  admitted  here,  as  illustrating  different 
phases  of  army  life  in  winter-quarters. 

THE   SOLDIER'S   GRAVE. 

ON  one  of  the  closing  days  of  autumn,  1863,  the 
head-quarters  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  broke 
camp  at  Auburn  and  moved  to  Colonel  Murray's 
farm,  about  two  miles  from  Warrenton  Junction. 
The  head-quarters'  moving,  though  not  so  grand  or 
striking  a  spectacle  as  you  will  often  see  in  mili 
tary  life,  is  still  quite  imposing,  and  by  no  means 
destitute  of  "the  pomp  and  circumstances  of  glori 
ous  war." 

Altogether,  it  is  as  long  a  procession  as  the  eye 
can  take  in  at  once,  consisting  of  the  baggage- 
wagons  and  private  carriages  of  the  Generals  and 
other  officers  belonging  to  this  department,  ac 
companied  by  their  battle-flags,  a  heavy  escort  of 
cavalry,  a  regiment  of  infantry,  wagons  belonging 
to  the  subsistence  department,  and,  at  this  time,  a 
long  line  of  rebel  prisoners,  marching  under  guard. 
We  moved  along  slowly  over  the  hills,  through  the 
wooded  country,  but  soon  emerged  on  the  plains  of 
Bristow,  where  had  recently  been  fought  the  battle 
which  gave  to  Meade,  instead  of  Lee,  the  coveted 
heights  of  Centreville,  and  to  General  Warren  the 
laurels  which  designate  him  "  Hero  of  Bristow  Sta 
tion." 

Yet,  as  we  passed  along,  my  attention  was  ar- 


WINTER-QUARTERS.  8l 

rested  by  a  little  scene,  which  forms  a  picture  in 
memory,  never  to  be  effaced.  Just  off  to  the  right, 
a  short  distance  over  the  brown  plain,  was  a  sol 
dier's  grave,  newly  made,  and,  ranged  along,  side 
by  side,  bowed  on  reversed  muskets  over  the  grave 
of  their  comrade,  four  soldiers,  apparently  engaged 
in  prayer.  They  had  turned  aside  from  the  weary 
march,  and  there,  unmindful  of  the  gay  procession 
passing  by,  with  heads  bowed  low,  and  solemn 
countenances,  gave  a  few  moments  to  communion 
with  heaven,  and  a  few  tears  to  the  sleeper  below. 

Did  they  think,  in  those  moments,  of  breaking 
hearts  far  away,  yearning  with  vain  desire  to  kneel 
by  that  lonely  grave  ?  Were  they  recalling  the  fear 
ful  engagements  in  which  they  and  the  fallen  hero 
had  fought  side  by  side,  and  crying  out  in  their 
hearts,  "  Such  is  the  price  we  pay  for  human  free 
dom  ! "  "  So  much  it  costs  to  secure  to  our  children 
the  blessing  of  a  stable  government!"  Or  were 
they  anticipating  other  battles,  speedily  approach 
ing,  and  wondering  if  they  would  be  the  next  to 
fall,  and  who  would  be  left  to  pray  over  their  graves? 
I  know  not  what  were  their  thoughts,  but  these, 
and  many  others,  rushed  upon  my  mind,  and  I,  too, 
gave  a  tear  to  the  solitary  grave. 

Yes,  this  was  a  solitary  grave,  but  on  many  hill 
sides  and  in  many  valleys  of  Virginia  you  may  find 
them,  "  strewn  thick  as  autumn's  leaves  in  Vallam- 
brosa's  brook." 

F 


82  WINTER-QUARTERS. 

There  sleep  our  brothers  and  our  sons,  the  best 
we  had  to  give,  the  costliest  sacrifice  we  could  offer 
on  the  altar  of  our  country. 

Their  last  battle  is  fought,  their  last  march  ended, 
their  last  bivouac  is  made.  They  sleep  well  in 
that  deep  slumber  from  which  no  bugle-call  or 
sound  of  any  kind  can  awake  them,  until  the  loud 
reveille  which  shall  "  shake  not  the  earth  only,  but 
also  heaven." 

But  who  can  number  the  tears  that  flow,  or  the 
hearts  that  break  with  longing  for  the  sight  of  those 
who  shall  return  no  more  ?  What  eye,  save  that 
which  comprehends  immensity,  can  measure  a  na 
tion's  grief,  as,  like  the  foot-worn  soldier,  she  bows 
over  the  graves  of  her  fallen  sons,  and,  from  the 
depth  of  her  anguish,  cries  out,  "  Such  is  the  price 
we  pay  for  Human  Freedom  ! " 

ON   A   STRETCHER. 

WHEN  our  Colonel's  wife  came  to  camp,  last 
winter,  she  expected  to  have  a  good  time  of  it. 

Our  Colonel  had  had  his  quarters  arranged  in  the 
best  camp  style.  A  nice  plank-pavement  all  around, 
wherever  she  might  choose  to  walk  ;  trees  planted 
so  thickly  about  the  tent  that  you  would  almost 
take  it  for  a  natural  forest ;  a  pretty  archway  of 
green  boughs  at  the  entrance,  with  the  red  diamond 
of  the  division  in  the  centre,  and  everything  about 
the  premises  quite  au  fait. 


WINTER-QUARTERS.  83 

Within,  all  was  cozy  and  comfortable  —  the  walls 
splendidly  illuminated  with  pictures  from  Harper  s 
Weekly  and  Frank  Leslie's  Magazine,  good  board- 
floor,  plenty  of  chairs  and  boxes,  on  which  the 
Colonel's  numerous  friends  could  sit  around  the 
capacious  fire-place  and  gaze  on  the  ever-consum 
ing,  but  never  consumed,  "secesh"  logs,  or,  if  of  an 
inquisitive  turn,  look  into  the  little  inner  sanctuary, 
just  big  enough  for  a  bed,  and  to  turn  around  in. 

We  were  all  glad  when  our  Colonel's  wife  came 
among  us,  for  the  presence  of  a  lady  in  camp  is 
always  welcome,  and  though  we  cannot  all  have 
our  wives  to  winter  with  us,  the  sight  of  one  seems 
to  bring  home  nearer. 

Camp  life  is  not  always  destitute  of  amusement, 
and,  last  winter,  everybody  said  it  was  very  gay. 
There  were  plenty  of  balls  and  receptions,  and  visit 
ing  from  one  camp  to  another,  riding  on  horseback, 
or  in  ambulances,  for  many  other  officers  besides 
our  Colonel  had  their  wives  with  them ;  and,  al 
though  we  were  not  within  the  charmed  circle,  we 
could  see,  as  we  paced  our  beat,  or  stood  on  guard, 
or  lingered  at  the  door  of  our  tent,  a  good  deal  of 
what  was  going  on.  We  knew  when  our  Colonel's 
wife  got  her  new  riding-dress  and  hat  from  Wash 
ington,  and  saw  her  when  she  first  mounted  her 
horse  for  a  ride.  Often  afterwards,  we  watched  the 
gay  cavalcade,  of  which  she  was  one,  galloping 
over  the  hills,  and  vowed  that,  if  ever  "  this  cruel 


84  WINTER-QUARTERS. 

war  is  over,"  our  nice  little  wife  shall  have  just 
such  a  riding-dress  and  hat,  and  we  will  have  a  ride 
if  two  horses  can  be  found  in  the  country. 

So  the  winter  was  nearly  over,  and  our  Colonel's 
wife  had  enjoyed  her  share  of  whatever  amusement 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac  had  to  offer. 

But  there  was  one  experience  she  little  thought 
to  encounter  still  in  store  for  her,  and  that  was  — 
being  carried  on  a  stretcher. 

It  was  brought  about  in  this  wise.  She  had 
taken  several  rather  hard  rides  on  horseback,  to 
which  she  was  not  much  accustomed,  sometimes  in 
cold,  windy  days,  and  on  fast  horses,  and  being 
rather  ambitious,  and  not  willing  to  give  up,  when 
prudence  might  have  dictated  rest,  she,  all  at  once, 
and  quite  contrary  to  her  plans,  found  herself  on 
the  sick  roll. 

Being  sick  in  camp  is  no  joke,  and  least  like  one 
to  the  lady  in  question.  But  sleepless  nights  and 
days,  and  pains  in  the  back  and  head,  and  constant 
nausea,  are  stubborn  facts,  to  which  the  stoutest 
heart  must  cry,  "  I  surrender."  So,  with  all  the 
Colonel's  good  nursing,  and  the  doctor's  prescrip 
tions,  and  visits  from  sympathizing  friends,  "  she 
was  nothing  better,  but  rather  grew  worse ; "  and 
right  upon  this  an  order  came  for  our  division  to 
change  camp. 

Military  orders  make  no  exceptions,  and  hard  as 
it  might  seem  in  this  state  of  things,  the  cozy  quar- 


WINTER-QUARTERS.  85 

ters  must  be  evacuated,  and  new  ones  sought  in  a 
camp  three  miles  distant. 

The  lady's  illness  had  reached  a  point  when,  in 
deed,  it  might  be  said,  "  the  spider's  most  attenu 
ated  thread  is  cord,  is  cable,  to  the  slender  hold  " 
she  had  on  life,  and  the  slightest  jar  might  snap 
the  thread,  and  then  all  would  be  over.  Riding  in 
an  ambulance  over  the  rough  roads  and  corduroy 
bridges,  was  an  experiment  not  in  the  least  desira 
ble,  and  the  only  other  resort  which  camp  afforded 
was  a  stretcher. 

Our  stretcher-bearers  are  sufficiently  accustomed 
to  bearing  wounded  and  dead  men  from  the  field, 
or  sick  men  to  and  from  the  hospital.  But  a  lady 
on  a  stretcher  is  something  quite  unique.  Eight 
men,  making  four  reliefs,  were  detailed  to  accom 
plish  the  delicate  task,  and  with  infinite  care  and 
tenderness,  our  Colonel's  wife  was  laid  on  the  omin 
ous  little  vehicle,  to  commence  her  new  method  of 
transportation.  The  Colonel,  with  several  friends, 
accompanied  the  party  on  horseback,  and  six  of 
the  men  took  their  turns  in  going  ahead  as  pioneers, 
to  select  the  smoothest  places. 

"  Is  that  a  dead  man  !"  "  Oh,  that  is  a  woman! 
Is  she  dead,  or  what 's  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 

These  questions  being  asked  by  stragglers  in  the 
hearing  of  the  lady,  were  not  much  calculated  to 
raise  her  spirits  and  facilitate  her  convalescence. 

The  removal,  however,  was  accomplished  with 
8 


86  WINTER-QUARTERS. 

much  less  disadvantage  than  was  feared,  and  now 
that  she  is  restored  to  health,  she  looks  back  upon 
it  as  rather  a  gay  adventure,  and  declares  that  she 
outdid  the  Colonel  on  some  points  of  military  ex 
perience,  since  he,  in  all  his  three  years'  term  of 
service,  had  never  been  carried  on  a  stretcher. 

THE   RECONNOISSANCE. 

THEY  have  gone,  they  have  all  passed  by,  nothing 
can  be  seen  of  them  now  but  a  long  line  of  flashing 
bayonets,  passing  close  under  the  brow  of  yonder 
hill.  First  went  a  few  miles  of  cavalry  (interspersed 
with  batteries  of  artillery),  the  rattling  of  whose 
sabres  always  announce  their  approach  before  you 
hear  the  tramp  of  their  horses.  If  you  happen  to 
be  near  them  as  they  pass,  you  will  hear  them 
jesting  in  merry  tones,  or  singing  snatches  of  rol 
licking  songs.  They  go  out  ready  to  do  or  die, 
and  whatever  else  happens,  you  may  be  pretty  sure 
that  the  cavalry  will  not  disgrace  us.  Next  went 
their  ambulances,  painfully  suggestive  of  broken 
limbs,  fearful  sabre  gashes,  and  bullet  holes  through 
the  lungs ;  worse  things  than  these  sometimes,  but 
we  must  not  think  of  them  now.  Then  their  train 
of  baggage  and  supply  wagons  winding  along  for 
several  miles,  and  this  is  the  last  we  see  of  the 
cavalry. 

A  few  hours  pass,  and  looking  far  away  over  the 
hills  we  see  a  long,  dark  line  in  motion,  and  experi- 


WINTER-QUARTERS.  8/ 

ence  tells  us  that  it  is  a  body  of  infantry.  As  they 
come  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  hill,  their  bayonets 
begin  to  gleam,  so  that  now,  in  the  sunshine,  they 
look  like  a  line  of  blazing  light,  and  come  pouring 
on,  officers  riding  at  the  head  of  their  commands, 
colors  and  battle-flags  waving  on  the  air,  some  of 
them  pierced  and  torn  almost  to  shreds,  but  borne 
all  the  more  proudly,  and  guarded  the  more  sacred 
ly  for  that.  Presently,  other  columns,  from  other 
camps  and  winding  around  other  hills,  come  on, 
but  all  moving  in  one  direction.  Where  they  are 
going,  or  for  what,  nobody  knows.  As  they  come 
nearer,  you  see  that  many  of  them  have  attached 
to  their  knapsack-straps,  tincups,  frying-pans,  tin- 
pails,  coffee-pots,  and  some  a  loaf  of  bread  on  their 
bayonets.  They  seem  in  good  spirits,  and,  like  the 
cavalry,  are  singing  and  joking.  But  under  all  this 
appearance  of  alacrity  you  may  be  sure  there  is 
hidden  much  anxiety,  and,  in  many  hearts,  a  fearful 
looking  forward, —  for,  my  friend,  you  who  sit  so 
quietly  smoking  your  cigar,  as  you  read  the  news 
paper  account  of  the  last  great  battle,  it  is  no  easier 
for  these  poor  fellows  to  go  out  from  their  shelter- 
tents  to  die  than  it  would  be  for  you  to  go  out  from 
your  counting-room  or  your  law  office.  "  Glori 
ous  fellows !  "  exclaimed  the  General,  as  a  part  of 
his  command  was  marching  by.  He  was  think 
ing  how  gallantly  they  had  behaved  on  many  a 
fiercely-contested  field,  and  how  well  he  might  rely 


88  WINTER-QUARTERS. 

on  them  to  follow  wherever  he  should  lead  in 
future.  "  Poor  fellows!"  said,  at  the  same  moment, 
a  woman  in  sympathizing  tones.  She  was  thinking 
of  fearful  sights  in  crowded  hospitals,  cruel  wounds, 
amputated  limbs,  pale  faces,  and  brave,  faithful 
hearts,  worn  out  with  excess  of  anguish. 

So  they  pass  along  for  many  hours,  and  after 
them  come  their  trains  of  ambulances,  baggage  and 
supply  wagons,  and,  lastly,  a  herd  of  cattle,  propor 
tioned  in  numbers  to  the  rations  they  are  to  serve. 
Now,  at  length,  they  are  all  gone.  The  camps  are 
like  deserted  cities,  for  they  have  left  their  huts  and 
tents  standing,  hoping  to  come  back  to  them.  A 
few  soldiers,  unfit  for  a  march,  are  walking  around, 
or  lying  under  their  tents.  Here  and  there  you 
may  see  smoke  lazily  ascending,  but  the  atmosphere 
is  relieved  of  that  dense  body  of  smoke  that  usually 
hangs  over  camp.  The  stillness  is  painful.  We 
sit  down  mournfully,  and  wonder  where  our  friends 
are  gone,  and  what  is  on  the  tapis  now ;  for  dear 
and  noble  souls  have  gone  out  to-day,  and  many 
such  we  have  seen  go  out  to  return  no  more.  In 
our  hearts  we  pray  for  them,  and  then  look  out 
to  see  what  signs  of  the  weather,  and  hope  it  will 
not  rain.  At  night  we  think  of  guerillas.  We 
know  that  our  picket  line  is  thin,  and  that  a  treach 
erous  and  unscrupulous  foe  is  always  going  about 
seeking  what  he  may  "  gobble."  Our  sleep,  if  we 
get  any,  is  light,  and  often  broken  by  anxiety.  We 


WINTER-QUARTERS.  89 

dream  of  battle-fields,  rebel  cavalry,  and  journeys 
to  Richmond.  In  the  morning  we  hear  a  distant 
cannonading,  but  we  are  not  startled  by  it.  It 
may  be  fighting,  or  it  may  be  only  shelling  the 
woods  as  they  advance.  We  judge  of  its  distance 
and  direction  by  the  sound.  Sometimes  it  seems 
to  come  from  the  right,  sometimes  from  the  left,  and 
sometimes  from  both  directions  at  once.  It  con 
tinues  at  intervals  through  the  day,  though  growing 
more  distant.  As  the  day  wears  on,  a  courier 
comes  in  and  reports  our  friends.  We  are  relieved 
to  know  that  they  have  had  no  fighting  yet,  and 
are  doing  better  than  we  feared. 

But  now  a  new  cause  of  anxiety  arises,  for  the 
weather,  which  was  fine  when  they  marched  out,  is 
changing,  and  ominous  gusts  of  wind  and  rain- 
bearing  clouds  force  themselves  on  our  observation. 
We  try  to  think  we  are  mistaken,  and  look  earn 
estly  for  patches  of  blue  sky,  and  gleams  of  sunshine, 
but  they  are  not  there.  Soon  a  starless,  dismal 
night  sets  in,  with  drizzling  rain.  Oh,  the  pitiless 
storm  !  What  can  our  friends  do,  with  no  shelter 
but  their  blankets,  and  no  bed  but  the  soft  soil  under 
them.  The  rain  seems  to  beat  on  our  naked  hearts, 
and  we  are  abandoned  to  fearful  anxiety,  for  there 
is  not  only  exposure  to  the  weather,  but  danger 
that,  the  ground  being  softened  by  the  rain,  their 
progress  will  be  obstructed  and  their  plans  defeated, 
or  that  the  enemy  will  get  advantage  of  them. 
8* 


9O  WINTER-QUARTERS. 

But  all  our  fears  we  know  cannot  help  them,  so  we 
strive  to  commit  them  to  the  care  of  that  Provi 
dence  which  rules  over  all,  and  to  hope  for  the  best. 

In  the  morning,  going  to  the  hospital,  we  ob 
serve  a  new  patient,  and  are  pained  to  see  that  it  is 
a  case  of  extreme  suffering.  The  eyes  are  partly 
closed,  an  expression  of  mortal  anguish  is  on  his 
face,  his  respiration  labored  and  irregular. 

"  Whom  have  you  here,  nurse  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  man  of  our  division,  ma'am,  who  went 
on  the  march,  but  gave  out  by  the  way,  and  they 
sent  him  back  in  an  ambulance.  He  was  very  bad 
when  he  came  in,  and  he  has  been  growing  worse 
ever  since. " 

The  next  day,  the  fourth  since  the  march,  is  clear 
and  fine.  Our  friends  return  without  fighting,  and 
we  learn  that  it  was  only  a  reconnoissance.  The 
soldier  in  the  hospital  is  dead,  and  we  join  the  little 
escort  that  follows  him  to  his  long  home. 

There,  on  the  hillside,  along  with  many  that  went 
before,  and  whose  graves  are  marked  with  simple 
head-boards  bearing  the  inscription  of  their  names 
and  regiments,  his  grave  is  prepared,  and  the  brown 
coffin  lowered  in.  "  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the 
life  "  is  read  over  it,  a  prayer  is  said,  a  salute  fired, 
and  he  adds  one  more  to  the  buried  soldiers  with 
which  the  soil  of  Virginia  is  so  thickly  strewn. 

Poor  fellow,  he  was  a  recruit,  and  this  was  his 
first  and  last  march. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

CA  VALR  Y  CORPS  HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT. 

EARLY  in  the  spring  of  1864,  General  Grant 
took  command  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
and  preparations  were  made  for  breaking  up  the 
base  at  Brandy  Station  and  for  a  vigorous  campaign. 
In  pursuance  of  an  order  from  head-quarters,  there 
was  a  general  flight  of  women  to  Washington. 

When  I  next  found  my  division  hospital  it  was 
at  Fredericksburg,  Va.,  after  the  battle  of  the  Wil 
derness,  May  5th,  6th,  and  /th.  It  would  be  in 
vain  to  attempt  a  description  of  the  scenes  of  suf 
fering  that  crowded  on  one  another  there,  as  out- 
wounded  were  brought  back  from  the  hard  fighting 
of  the  Wilderness  and  Spottsylvania.  The  entire 
city  was  turned  into  a  hospital,  and  the  houses 
were  literally  filled,  from  garret  to  cellar,  with  our 
patient,  dying  soldiers. 

Thence  the  Hospital  Department  was  ordered  to 
Port  Royal — which  was  made  a  base  during  the 
fighting  at  the  North  Anna  River  —  and  thence  to 
White  House  Landing,  on  the  Pamunkey.  Here 
we  remained  for  several  weeks ;  the  wounded  were 
brought  in  from  the  battle  of  Cold  Harbor,  and  our 
hospitals  were  established,  and  again  filled  with  every 

91 


92    CAVALRY  CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY    POINT. 

conceivable  form  of  suffering.  By  this  time,  General 
D.  B.  Birney,  on  whose  protection  and  kindness  I 
had  so  long  relied,  was  transferred  to  another  com 
mand. 

The  old  and  honored  Third  Corps,  which  had  so 
many  times  stood  in  the  deadly  breach,  hurling 
back  the  tide  of  invasion  that  threatened  to  over 
whelm  us,  was  consolidated  into  the  Third  Division 
of  the  Second  Corps.  Many  of  the  surgeons  with 
whom  I  had  worked,  and  other  officers,  who  had 
been  my  friends,  had  left  the  service  at  the  expira 
tion  of  their  three  years'  term,  or  fallen  in  the  re 
cent  battles.  Finding  but  few  of  my  old  friends 
remaining,  I  accepted  an  invitation  from  Dr.  Mit 
chell,  of  the  Eighth  Pennsylvania  Cavalry,  who 
was  in  charge  of  the  hospital  of  the  Cavalry  Corps, 
to  undertake  the  supervision  of  special  diet,  and 
other  matters  pertaining  to  the  welfare  of  his  pa 
tients. 

While  we  remained  at  White  House,  and  for 
some  months  after  our  removal  to  City  Point,  I  was 
assisted  by  Mrs.  M.  A.  Ehler,  of  Lancaster,  Pa., 
whose  devotion  to  the  welfare  of  the  wounded 
there,  and  in  Gettysburg,  is  still  warmly  remem 
bered  by  many  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  the 
recipients  of  her  kindness. 

A  few  extracts  from  my  journal  will,  perhaps, 
give  the  reader  some  little  idea  of  our  work  and 
manner  of  life  at  the  Cavalry  Corps  Hospital,  where 
I  remained  till  March  1st,  1865. 


CAVALRY  CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.    93 

CITY  POINT,  VA.,  October  16,  1864. 

I  was  alone  in  my  tent  this  afternoon,  when  the 
flap  was  drawn  aside,  and  a  pleasant-looking  soldier 
boy  inquired  if  Mrs.  Spaulding  was  here. 

"  She  is  staying  here,  but  just  now  has  gone  out. 
Do  you  wish  to  see  her?" 

"  She  is  my  mother." 

I  stepped  outside  the  tent  to  show  him  the  direc 
tion  he  should  take  to  find  her,  and  saw  that  she 
was  hurrying  towards  us. 

A  delegate  of  the  Christian  Commission,  who 
was  at  the  front  yesterday,  had  kindly  promised  to 
bring  her  tidings  of  her  boy;  and  as  she  was  on  her 
way  to  learn  the  result  of  his  inquiries,  the  sentinel 
at  the  entrance  of  the  hospital  grounds,  having 
ascertained  that  the  young  infantry  soldier  was  her 
son,  told  her  that  he  had  just  passed  in,  and  she 
quickly  returned. 

He  went  to  meet  her,  and  mother  and  son,  after 
a  separation  of  two  years  of  danger,  hardship,  and 
sorrow,  were  united  in  a  tearful  embrace.  Mrs. 
Spaulding  had  given  four  sons  to  the  service  of  the 
country.  They  were  all  good  soldiers,  and  had 
shirked  no  duty,  either  of  the  march,  skirmish, 
picket,  or  heavy  engagement.  Imbued  by  their 
mother  with  a  noble  spirit  of  patriotism,  and  obedi 
ence  to  any  well-defined  duty,  they  had  borne  in  their 
own  persons  the  brunt  of  battle,  and  had  shared  the 
burdens  and  heat  of  the  day;  one,  reduced  to  a 


94     CAVALRY   CORPS     HOSPITAL,  CITY    POINT. 

skeleton  by  sickness,  following  exposure  and  toil, 
had  gone  home  to  die.  Just  a  year  from  the  day 
of  his  death,  another  had  died  in  our  hospital.  He 
was  one  of  those  whose  energies  were  exhausted 
by  the  heavy  cavalry  raids  of  the  present  campaign. 
After  he  came  to  us,  he  did  not  seem  to  suffer 
from  severe  illness,  and  was  always  cheerful  and 
hopeful  of  recovery ;  but  little  by  little  his  strength 
departed,  until  at  last  the  flickering  flame  of  life 
went  suddenly  out.  A  third  is  now  serving  in 
Florida,  and  the  fourth  has  to-day  come  from  the 
front,  near  Richmond,  to  see  his  mother.  For  two 
years  he  has  been  a  soldier,  suffering  much,  as  all 
our  soldiers  do  at  times,  with  cold  and  hunger  and 
weariness,  yet  always  keeping  up  a  stout  heart,  and 
constantly  writing  to  his  mother  to  be  of  good 
cheer.  During  all  this  time  he  has  not  met  either 
of  his  brothers,  excepting  for  a  few  moments,  in 
our  hospital,  the  one  who  lately  died.  Now  he  sits 
down  once  more  with  his  mother,  it  may  be  for  the 
last  time;  and  they  speak  tearfully  of  the  past,  and 
not  without  anxiety  of  the  future.  He  tells  her  of 
comrades,  some  of  them  old  playfellows  from  the 
same  town,  killed  in  battle.  Of  one  poor  fellow 
shot  at  the  picket  post  after  his  term  of  service  had 
expired,  and  says  of  him,  "'Tell  his  mother  that  he 
was  a  good  soldier."  They  speak  of  him  who  has 
lately  passed  away,  and,  after  a  while,  go  out  to 
visit  his  grave.  He  lies  in  the  little  cemetery  of 


CAVALRY   CORPS     HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.     Q5 

the  hospital,  just  in  the  edge  of  the  woods,  near  the 
bank  of  the  Appomattox.  There  sleep  more  than 
a  hundred  of  our  cavalrymen,  who  have  died  since 
we  came  here  in  June.  They  lie  in  rows  as  regular 
as  those  in  which  they  lately  stood  on  dress-parade, 
or  when  drawn  out  in  line  of  battle.  But  time  is 
precious,  and  they  cannot  linger  long  to  weep  at 
his  grave,  for  the  few  hours  of  the  son's  furlough 
will  soon  pass.  The  mother  walks  with  him  a  mile 
or  two,  to  our  first  line  of  breastworks,  where  he 
insists  that  she  shall  not  go  farther,  and  takes  leave 
of  her,  saying,  "  Do  not  fear  for  me,  mother;  if  I 
die  here,  I  will  surely  meet  you  in  heaven."  He 
takes  under  his  arm  a  bundle  which  it  had  been  my 
privilege  to  prepare  for  him, — shirt,  drawers,  socks, 
handkerchief,  towel,  canned-milk,  tomatoes,  and 
peaches,  tea  and  tobacco,  all  tied  up  in  a  large  col 
ored  handkerchief,  which  will  be  nice  to  muffle 
around  his  throat  some  of  these  cold  nights  when 
he  has  to  stand  on  picket.  They  were  invaluable 
to  him;  but  he  could  hardly  be  persuaded  to  take 
them,  lest,  as  he  said,  he  "  should  be  robbing  the 
sick  boys  at  the  hospital."  So,  after  this  important 
era  in  his  soldier  life,  he  walks  away  to  find  his 
post  of  duty  and  danger,  where,  at  any  moment, 
the  winged  messenger  of  death  may  find  him  ;  for 
it  sometimes  happens  to  our  poor  fellows,  lying  near 
the  entrenchments,  that  a  stray  shot  or  shell  kills 
them  while  asleep  in  their  quarters. 


96    CAVALRY  CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT. 

Intelligence  having  reached  Mrs.  Spaulding,  at  her 
home,  in  the  northern  part  of  the  State  of  Maine, 
that  a  son  was  lying  sick  in  the  Cavalry  Corps 
Hospital,  she  had  come  without  delay  to  look  after 
him  ;  but  finding,  to  her  great  grief,  that  he  had 
been  lying  in  the  little  cemetery  five  days,  and  see 
ing  that  there  was  much  to  do  for  the  sons  of  other 
mothers  who  were  far  away,  she  forthwith  sent  her 
tears  back  to  their  fountains,  and  began  to  work  for 
them,  and  soon  became  so  much  interested  that  she 
begged  to  be  put  on  permanent  duty  in  the  hospital. 

The  patients  were  always  glad  to  see  her  in  the 
wards,  because,  as  they  would  say  to  her,  "  You 
seem  so  much  like  my  mother,"  "  Your  hand  feels 
so  much  like  my  mother's  hand  ;"  and  when  she 
left  for  a  few  weeks,  to  go  home  and  make  prepara 
tions  for  a  winter's  campaign  with  us,  they  pre 
sented  her  with  a  purse  of  fifty  dollars,  to  bear  her 
expenses. 

Oct.  22. —  This  afternoon  one  of  the  ward-masters 
looked  into  my  tent,  and  said,  "Jim  is  dead."  He 
was  a  man  to  whom  my  attention  was  called  when 
he  came  to  the  hospital,  two  or  three  weeks  ago,  as 
being  a  brave  soldier,  worthy  of  special  considera 
tion,  and  I  have  been  much  interested  in  his  case. 

His  emaciated  person,  hollowed  cheeks,  and 
sharp  features,  indicated  too  plainly  the  nature  of 
his  disease.  We  hoped  that  something  might  be 
done  to  save  him,  but  our  efforts  were  unavailing, 


CAVALRY   CORPS     HOSPITAL,  CITY    POINT.     97 

and  gradually  he  sank  away.  When  I  saw  him  this 
morning,  he  said,  in  reply  to  my  questions,  that  he 
"felt  quite  well,"  and  "could  eat  anything;"  but 
his  lips  were  then  growing  stiff,  his  limbs  were  cold, 
and  in  a  few  hours  he  was  gone. 

His  friend  told  me  that  he  was  respectably  con 
nected,  and  the  owner  of  quite  a  large  property. 
That  while  he  was  out  in  the  three  months'  service, 
at  the  commencement  of  the  war,  the  young  girl  to 
whom  he  was  pledged  for  marriage  was  lost  to  him 
through  the  treachery  of  one  who  had  supplanted 
him  in  her  affections. 

From  the  time  he  had  returned,  and  learned  the 
facts,  he  seemed  bent  on  one  only  purpose  —  that 
of  meeting  her  seducer  and  inflicting  on  him  pun 
ishment  for  his  crime.  The  latter,  becoming  aware 
of  his  design,  immediately  left  the  place,  and  went 
to  Washington.  Thither  Jim  followed,  and  learn 
ing  that  the  miscreant  had  enlisted  in  a  Pennsyl 
vania  regiment,  hesitated  not  to  do  the  same.  Be 
fore  he  could  reach  the  regiment,  intelligence  came 
that  the  man  whom  he  was  seeking  had  been  cap 
tured  while  on  picket.  Whether  this  was  true,  or 
whether,  learning  that  the  avenger  was  at  hand, 
he  had  deserted  to  the  enemy,  was  never  known. 
Certain  it  is,  however,  that  after  three  years  of  baf 
fled  effort,  worn  out  with  hard  service  and  exposure 
in  camp  and  field,  added  to  the  burden  of  mental 
anguish  that  he  always  bore,  poor  Jim  came  to  our 
9  G 


98     CAVALRY   CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT. 

hospital  to  die — the  wreck  of  a  once  noble,  gener 
ous-hearted  man.  A  few  days  before  his  death*,  he 
had  transmitted  to  friends  a  large  sum  of  money 
for  the  poor  girl's  benefit,  whom,  with  her  child,  he 
had  maintained  during  his  absence,  though  he  had 
entirely  relinquished  the  idea  of  marrying  her. 

Oct.  24.  —  Last  evening  I  attended  a  soldier's 
prayer-meeting  in  one  of  the  wards  of  our  hospital. 
We  have  had  many  such  during  the  past  summer, 
and  I  have  often  wished  that  friends  at  home  could 
look  in  upon  them.  Some,  I  think,  would  not  ob 
ject  to  exchange,  for  at  least  one  evening,  a  seat  in 
their  nicely-cushioned  pew,  and  gas-lighted  church, 
for  one  on  a  box,  or  the  side  of  a  bed,  in  our 
dimly-lighted  tents,  the  discourse  of  their  favorite 
preacher  for  these  fraternal  exhortations,  and  the 
grand  organ-notes  in  the  stately  hymn  or  loud- 
swelling  anthem,  for  these  voices  in  "  Nearer,  my 
God,  to  Thee,"  or  "  Am  I  a  Soldier  of  the  Cross?" 

The  meetings  are  conducted  by  hospital  atten 
dants  and  convalescents,  and  they  have  one  nearly 
every  evening,  changing  from  one  ward  to  another. 

Last  evening,  when  we  entered,  the  services  had 
commenced.  The  beds  were  so  arranged  as  to 
leave  a  small  vacant  space  in  the  centre  of  the  ward, 
which  consists  of  three  hospital  tents.  On  one  side 
of  this  little  square  was  a  small  table  covered  with 
rubber  cloth  ;  on  the  opposite  side,  a  box  covered 
with  newspapers  —  reserved  seats  for  the  ladies ; 


CAVALRY   CORPS     HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.     99 

while  the  men  were  seated  throughout  the  ward  on 
the  beds.  A  large  Bible  was  open  on  the  table ; 
two  candles  threw  their  light  on  its  yellow  pages, 
and  the  leader  of  the  meeting  was  just  beginning  to 
read.  Those  sacred  words  of  life  and  peace  were 
not  less  precious  that  the  sound  of  the  reader's 
voice  mingled  with  the  roar  of  cannon  a  few  miles 
distant,  reminding  us  that  the  cruel  strife  is  going 
on.  The  above-mentioned  Bible  possesses  for  us 
something  of  unusual  interest.  I  had  often  noticed 
that  it  was  quite  difficult  for  the  men  to  read  in 
their  little  Testaments  by  candle-light,  and  one  day 
had  asked  at  the  head-quarters  of  the  Christian 
Commission  if  the  entire  Bible,  and  one  of  a  larger 
print,  could  be  obtained.  They  gave  me  this,  the 
only  one  to  be  had,  looking,  in  its  old-fashioned 
calf  binding,  and  antiquated  lettering,  as  if  it  might 
have  done  service  in  the  War  of  the  Revolution,  or 
been  a  passenger  in  the  May-Flower.  Yet,  not 
withstanding  its  advanced  age,  it  was  well  pre 
served,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  leaves  missing 
at  the  beginning  and  the  end,  and  had  made  its 
rounds  from  ward  to  ward  a  most  welcome  visitor, 
the  source  whence  many  a  dying  sol'dier  had  derived 
help  and  comfort. 

During  the  progress  of  the  meeting,  one  of  the 
speakers,  whose  term  of  service  had  expired,  being 
about  to  return  to  his  home,  spoke,  with  tears,  of  the 
Almighty  goodness  that  had  led  him  safely  through 


IOO    CAVALRY   CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY    POINT. 

so  many  dangers,  and  hoped  that  his  religious  char 
acter  had  not  deteriorated  through  the  temptations 
of  a  soldier's  life. 

Another  was  about  leaving  the  hospital  to  join  his 
regiment  at  the  front,  and  begged  the  prayers  of 
his  comrades  that  he  might  be  faithful  to  duty,  and 
prepared  for  any  future  that  might  await  him. 

At  the  close,  the  singers,  standing  around  the 
bed-side  of  one  near  to  death,  sang  "  Rock  of 
Ages,"  and  several  other  hymns  adapted  to  cheer 
and  encourage  the  soul  about  to  enter  the  dark 
valley. 

This  man  did  not  call  himself  a  Christian  when 
he  came  to  the  hospital,  but  through  the  influence 
of  these  little  meetings,  and  the  good  men  who 
have  attended  him  as  nurses,  hopes  he  has  become 
one,  and  is  dying  peacefully. 

Now  that  the  weather  is  getting  too  cold  for  the 
open  air  Sabbath  meetings  which  we  have  had  in 
the  summer,  the  men  are  fitting  up  an  old  building, 
which  we  hope  may  be  used  as  a  chapel,  and  thus 
afford  to  many  of  our  cavalrymen  opportunities  of 
hearing  the  Word. 

Of  our  Sabbath  exercises  last  summer,  one  in  par 
ticular  will  not  be  forgotten  by  those  present.  It 
was  the  baptism  of  a  soldier.  The  congregation, 
consisting  of  three  or  four  hundred  convalescents 
and  attendants,  was  seated  on  the  green  in  front 
of  the  surgeon's  quarters.  Far  away  in  front,  and 


CAVALRY   CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.     IOI 

on  the  right,  stretched  the  white  hospital  tents,  re 
lieved  in  the  background  by  the  dark  pine  forest, 
while  on  the  left  might  be  seen  through  the  trees 
the  waters  of  the  Appomattox.  The  evening  was 
delightful,  and  for  once  the  artillery  duel,  which  we 
generally  heard  at  that  hour  near  Petersburg,  was 
omitted.  The  medical  officers,  and  others  here  as 
patients,  were  seated  under  the  head-quarters  fly, 
from  among  whom  the  chaplain  stepped  towards 
the  congregation,  and  after  a  brief  address,  and 
appropriate  singing,  administered  the  sacrament  of 
baptism  to  the  soldier  kneeling  before  him,  while 
the  large  flag  of  the  hospital,  with  its  crossed 
sabres,  and  the  cavalry  guidon  floated  over  their 
heads.  The  words,  "you  promise  to  renounce  the 
world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil,"  never  seemed  more 
impressive  than  amid  those  peculiar  surroundings. 
The  scene  was  poetic  beyond  description,  but  let 
us  hope  that  some  impression  deeper  than  poetry 
remained  with  the  audience. 

The  Cemetery,  enclosed  by  a  neat  fence,  lies 
under  the  forest  trees  near  by.  It  is  kept  in  perfect 
order,  and  here,  as  they  depart  one  by  one  out  of 
this  life,  are  deposited  the  bodies  of  our  brave  cav 
alrymen.  To  the  kindred  and  friends  of  those  who 
die  here,  it  must  be  a  satisfaction  to  know  that  they 
have  Christian  burial  in  this  secluded  and  beautiful 
spot ;  and  though  the  destiny  which  makes  the  last 
resting-place  of  their  loved  ones  so  far  away  may 


IO2     CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT. 

seem  severe,  yet  let  them  take  comfort  from  the 
reflection  that  there  is  a  way  to  heaven  from  the 
field-hospital,  or  even  the  battle-field,  no  less  than 
from  the  luxurious  city  or  quiet  country  home. 

In  our  field-hospitals  the  nursing  is  done  by  the 
soldiers.  Always  after  a  battle,  or  a  long  march, 
many  come  in  who  are  disabled  by  fatigue  for  duty 
in  the  regiment,  and  after  a  few  days  of  rest  in  the 
hospital  they  are  placed  on  the  convalescent  roll. 
They  are  then  either  returned  to  their  regiments  or 
put  on  duty  in  the  wards.  The  hospital,  consisting 
of  tents  or  rough  wooden  buildings — sometimes 
both  —  is  divided  into  several  sections,  to  each  of 
which  one  is  detailed  as  ward-master,  who  selects 
his  nurses,  has  supervision  of  the  wards  in  his  sec 
tion,  and  is  responsible  for  their  neatness  and  good 
order,  and  the  general  treatment  of  the  patients. 

The  tents  and  barracks  are  regularly  arranged, 
and  separated  by  streets,  which,  with  all  the  grounds 
about  the  hospital,  are  kept  perfectly  clean  by  the 
police  party,  whose  duty  it  is  to  remove  whatever 
filth  or  rubbish  may  be  scattered  about. 

As  you  go  through  the  wards,  especially  the  bar 
racks  or  stockades,  you  will  notice  with  pleasure 
the  tasteful  manner  in  which  they  are  ornamented, 
giving  them  a  cheerful,  sometimes  even  beautiful, 
appearance. 

Pictures  cut  from  magazines  and  weeklies,  neatly 
framed, "hang  on  the  walls;  also  mottoes  express 
ing  patriotic  or  religious  sentiments,  or  the  names 


CAVALRY  CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.     IO3 

of  their  favorite  generals.  These  are  composed  of 
letters  cut  from  the  foil  which  comes  around  tobacco, 
pasted  on  blue  or  yellow  paper,  and  stretched  on 
frames.  The  ceiling  is  festooned  with  tissue  paper 
of  various  colors,  cut  in  open  work.  Then  there  are 
chandeliers  made  by  stringing  together,  or  rather 
apart,  several  hoops  of  different  sizes  conically. 
wound  with  strips  of  red,  blue,  and  yellow  paper, 
and  ornamented  elaborately  with  paper  flowers  and 
leaves,  in  cutting  which  the  German  soldiers  excel. 
In  all  the  wards  you  will  see  some  of  the  soldiers 
sitting  on  the  bed's  side,  intent  on  carving  rings  or 
pipes  from  the  hard  laurel  root  of  the  country,  rings 
from  bones,  or  perhaps  transforming  the  thin  sides 
of  cigar  boxes  into  pretty  brackets.  You  will  stop 
to  listen  to  some  narrating  stories  of  the  fight  or 
march.  If  you  have  conversation  with  those  lying 
in  the  beds,  they  will  manifest  their  pleasure  at  your 
interest  in  them  by  the  lighting  up  of  the  eye,  and 
some  will  be  sure  to  take  from  under  their  pillows, 
for  your  inspection,  the  dear  pictures  of  wife  and 
children,  companions  of  all  their  weary  days.  Occa 
sionally  one  manifests  taste  and  skill  in  sketching 
with  the  pencil.  Two  pretty  pictures  of  soldiers  on 
picket  were  made  and  presented  to  me  by  a  soldier. 
The  greeting  a  woman  coming  into  the  hospital 
receives  is  sometimes  affecting.  "  It  seems  so  good 
to  see  a  woman  'round ;  you  look  so  much  like  my 
wife,  my  sister,  or  my  mother."  "  How  soft  your. 


IO4    CAVALRY   CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT. 

hand  feels  on  my  forehead."  "  How  shall  I  ever  pay 
you  for  what  you  have  done  for  me?"  "That  looks 
like  the  light  of  other  days,"  are  frequent  expres 
sions,  and  leave  the  person  addressed  nothing  to 
regret  but  that  she  can  do  so  little  for  men  to  whom 
a  little  is  worth  so  much.  Yet  it  is  difficult  for 
many  of  them  to  understand  the  motive  which 
prompts  a  lady  to  undergo  the  hardships  and  priva 
tions  of  life  in  a  field-hospital;  and  one  of  the  most 
frequent  questions  is,  "  How  much  pay  do  you  get?" 
When  I  tell  them  that  I  do  not  wish  or  receive  any 
pay  but  that  of  the  satisfaction  of  doing  something 
to  make  their  situation  more  tolerable,  they  cannot 
comprehend  it,  and  ask  if  I  have  a  husband  or 
brother  in  the  service.  A  poor  forlorn-looking 
fellow  comes  to  my  quarters  with  a  picture  which 
he  says  he  has  framed  for  me.  It  is  cut  from 
Harper's  Weekly,  and  represents  Paris  fashions  for 
January  1864,  in  the  persons  of  three  dashing 
young  ladies,  whose  well-fitting  and  tasteful  gar 
ments  are  excellent  "samples  to  judge  by."  The 
frame  to  which  it  is  pasted  is  a  hoop  covered  with 
blue  paper  and  coiled  around  with  yellow — the  cav 
alry  color.  I  am  charmed  with  the  gift,  and  express 
in  warmest  terms  my  admiration  and  gratitude.  As 
I  hang  it  on  the  wall,  a  companion  to  other  orna 
ments  by  which  these  dear  souls  have  testified  their 
affection,  and  he  rises  to  go,  he  asks,  "  Have  you  any 
more  of  that  licorice  ?  I  have  a  bad  cough,"  and 


CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.     IO5 

accompanies  the  assertion  with  practical  illustration. 
Forthwith  my  box  of  licorice  and  candies  —  gifts 
to  the  soldiers  from  friends  at  home  —  is  produced, 
and  with  a  nice  little  assortment,  wrapped  in  paper, 
he  returns  to  his  ward,  as  much  pleased  as  I  am 
with  my  picture. 

Oct.  27,  1864. —  Yesterday  and  to-day  patients 
have  been  coming  in  —  nearly  two  hundred  —  from 
the  hospitals  at  the  extreme  front.  A  heavy 
engagement  has  been  going  on,  and  these  have 
been  sent  in  to  make  room  for  the  wounded  there. 
Many  of  them  look  worn  and  emaciated,  and  say 
that  fighting  nearly  every  day,  and  doing  picket 
duty  these  cold  nights,  have  been  very  severe  on 
the  cavalry. 

28. —  For  the  last  two  or  three  days  the  fighting 
has  been  very  heavy.  The  cannonading  was  at 
times  terrific  —  the  explosions  seeming  to  roll  over 
and  over  one  another,  keeping  up  a  continual  roar 
for  hours.  We  hear  it  was  a  reconnoissance  near 
Hatcher's  Run.  About  one  hundred  wounded  came 
into  our  hospital  this  morning,  and  many  more  to 
the  infantry  hospitals.  Of  our  cavalrymen,  many 
were  badly  wounded ;  a  large  proportion  in  the 
thigh,  some  in  the  face,  or  through  the  lungs  and 
other  parts  of  the  body.  Many  have  already  suf 
fered  amputation.  Some  of  the  poor  fellows  must 
die  soon. 

One  little  fellow  with  delicate  features,  not  yet 


IO6     CAVALRY   CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT. 

eighteen  years  old,  cannot  reconcile  himself  to  the 
loss  of  his  right  arm.  The  bullet  struck  his  arm 
about  half-way  between  the  shoulder  and  elbow 
joint.  He  said  it  felt  as  though  some  one  had  dealt 
him  a  heavy  blow  with  a  club.  With  his  left  hand 
he  took  the  bullet  out  of  his  sleeve  and  threw  it 
away.  The  bone  was  much  shattered  and  required 
amputation.  When  I  spoke  to  him,  he  tried  to 
smile  through  his  tears,  but  it  was  evidently  very 
hard  to  put  a  cheerful  aspect  on  the  matter. 

A  boy  of  the  same  age,  whom  I  once  saw  in  a 
hospital  in  Washington,  said,  in  reply  to  my  words 
of  sympathy,  "  No  ;  I  have  not  lost  my  arm.  I  gave 
it  to  my  country,  and  I  gave  it  willingly.  I  ex 
pected  they  would  take  my  life,  but  as  they  took 
only  my  arm,  I  feel  very  thankful."  I  afterwards 
saw  his  mother  sitting  by  his  side,  weeping  incon- 
solably  for  her  boy's  loss,  while  he,  with  unflinch 
ing  countenance,  was  striving  to  comfort  her. 

November  6th  was  a  lovely  day  of  Indian  sum 
mer,  and  in  company  with  a  small  party  of  friends 
I  rode  out  to  our  front  line  of  fortifications.  We 
were  able  to  approach  within  a  few  miles  of  Peters 
burg,  and,  looking  through  the  fine  glass  on  our 
signal-station,  could  see  the  rebel  soldiers  engaged 
on  their  works,  and  set  our  watches  by  a  clock  on 
an  old  tower.  The  house  on  which  is  this  signal- 
station  was  for  many  years  owned  and  occupied  by 
Colonel  Avery.  It  is  a  large,  old-fashioned  house, 


CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.     IO/ 

its  spacious  rooms,  broad  halls,  tastefully-arranged 
garden,  and  walks  with  rows  of  box,  still  surviving 
the  general  desolation,  show  that  it  was  once  a 
beautiful  home.  Standing  on  the  highest  land  in 
the  vicinity,  it  overlooks  Petersburg  and  the  sur 
rounding  country,  and  has  served  at  times  as  a  tar 
get  for  both  armies.  We  could  trace  the  course  of 
cannon-balls  as  they  passed  from  room  to  room 
through  the  entire  building,  piercing  every  wall, 
and  leaving  in  each  a  hole,  smoothly  cut,  about  the 
size  of  a  barrel-head,  while  in  other  places  the  walls 
were  riddled  with  smaller  shot. 

It  seemed  a  singular  coincidence,  that  the  walls 
of  a  room,  apparently  a  drawing-room,  pierced  in 
this  way,  were  ornamented  with  pictured  paper 
representing  warlike  scenes  —  soldiers  in  line  of 
battle,  cavalry  and  infantry  mixed  up  in  fearful  con 
fusion,  the  living  with  their  gaily-painted  battle- 
flags  pressing  on  and  trampling  over  the  dead  and 
dying. 

There  was  something  weird  and  awful  in  the 
sight  of  these  mimic  scenes  of  warfare,  which,  after 
having  for  long  years  appealed  to  the  imagination 
of  the  dwellers  in  that  house,  now  found  their 
counterpart  in  dread  realities  within  sight  of  its 
windows.  Colonel  Avery  is  now  an  old  man.  He 
possessed  great  wealth  and  influence,  and  exerted 
himself  to  the  utmost  to  save  Virginia  to  the  Union, 
riding  with  several  of  his  friends  through  the  coun- 


108     CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT. 

try  day  and  night,  and  entreating  the  planters  to 
unite  with  him  in  resisting  the  insane  measure  of 
secession.  But  his  efforts  were  unavailing.  "  The 
North  will  not  fight,"  they  said  ;  and  so  the  over 
whelming  tide  of  angry  excitement  swept  away  his 
wiser  counsels.  But,  to  their  amazement,  the  North 
did  fight,  and  now  their  ruined  homes  are  a  mute 
testimony  to  their  folly.  The  owner  of  this  once 
elegant  estate,  finding  his  protest  unavailing,  has 
retired  to  a  place  of  safety,  while  his  broad  fields 
are  furrowed  with  breastworks,  and  trampled  over 
by  the  merciless  hoof  of  War. 

From  the  parapet  of  one  of  our  forts  we  had  a 
good  view  of  the  rebel  intrenchments  and  picket 
lines,  as  also  of  our  own.  Picket  firing  was  con 
stant  on  both  sides.  The  soldiers  in  the  fort  pointed 
out  a  spot  near  by,  where  a  corporal  was  last  even 
ing  killed  by  a  fragment  of  a  shell.  The  ground 
was  still  stained  with  the  poor  fellow's  blood. 
Standing  under  a  tree,  with  no  thought  of  the  im 
pending  fate,  the  missile  of  death  found  the  vital 
part.  He  staggered  a  few  steps, , and  fell  lifeless 
among  his  comrades. 

A  few  months  since,  in  the  same  fort,  we  saw  the 
guns  in  action,  witnessed  the  reply  of  the  rebel 
guns,  and  could  distinctly  hear  the  hideous  yell 
which  accompanies  their  fighting. 

As  the  firing  became  rapid,  the  officers  in  the 
fort  begged  us  to  hasten  our  departure,  the  locality 


CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.     IOQ 

being  no  longer  safe,  and  going  to  a  point  out  of 
range  of  the  guns,  we  sat  in  our  carriage  and  wit 
nessed  one  of  the  grandest  artillery  duels  of  the 
season.  The  shells  followed  each  other  rapidly, 
and  sometimes  we  could  see  them  all  along  both 
lines  for  many  miles.  First  would  come  the  flash 
and  puff  of  smoke,  then  the  report,  followed  by  a 
continuous  shriek  of  the  shell  as  it  darts  into  the 
air,  its  burning  fuse  showing  the  immense  globe  to 
be  revolving  on  its  axis.  Slowly  it  ascends,  like  a 
rocket,  then,  making  a  grand  swoop,  falls  rapidly 
as  an  eagle  pounces  on  its  prey.  An  explosion 
and  another  puff  of  smoke  announce  that  it  has  ac 
complished  its  mission.  This  firing  along  the  lines 
was  a  specimen  of  what  occurred  nearly  every 
evening  during  the  summer.  Many  of  the  shot 
and  shell  were  aimed  at  a  brigade  of  the  Ninth 
Corps,  lying  directly  in  front  of  our  point  of  obser 
vation.  It  was  composed  mostly  of  colored  troops, 
who  were  favorite  targets  for  the  guns  of  their 
ci-devant  masters. 

It  has  not  baen  an  unusual  thing  in  our  camps 
for  a  shell  to  fall  while  our  wearied  soldiers  are 
asleep,  and,  bursting  in  their  midst,  kill  one  or 
more  without  awaking  them.  An  officer  of  a  Mas 
sachusetts  regiment,  while  writing  a  letter  to  his 
wife,  was  struck  and  instantly  killed.  The  unfin 
ished  letter  —  stained  with  his  life-blood — an 
nounced  to  her  the  sad  tidings  of  his  death. 


IIO    CAVALRY   CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT. 

Three  soldiers  were  stooping  over  their  camp- 
fire,  cooking  their  supper  —  the  middle  one  had 
just  changed  his  position  to  reach  an  article  behind 
him,  when  a  solid  shot,  passing  in  range,  killed  his 
two  companions,  leaving  him  unhurt.  "  That  night," 
said  he,  "for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  I  said  my 
prayers." 

In  our  drives  about  City  Point,  and  the  fortifications 
around  Petersburg,  we  pass  many  ruins  where  were 
once  the  pleasant  homes  of  families  driven  away  by 
the  ravages  of  war.  A  pretty  clump  of  trees,  with 
several  tall  chimneys  and  gate-posts  still  standing, 
the  well-curb,  carriage  drives,  long  rows  of  box  and 
other  shrubbery,  and  here  and  there  little  huts  for 
negro  quarters,  tell  the  story  of  past  glory  and 
present  desolation.  However  great  may  be  our 
loyalty  to  our  country,  and  our  detestation  of  the 
crime  of  treason  against  it,  we  are  saddened  at  the 
sight  of  these  ruins,  and  deplore  the  misery  which 
involves,  in  many  cases,  the  innocent  as  well  as  the 
guilty. 

A  few  days  since,  we  made  an -excursion  to  the 
signal-station  in  the  Department  of  the  James, 
known  as  Butler's  Tower.  We  drove  from  our 
camp,  near  City  Point,  about  three  miles  up  the 
Appomattox  river,  where  we  crossed  the  pontoon 
bridge,  then  a  mile  or  two,  partly  through  the 
camps  of  the  Tenth  Corps,  to  the  tower.  This  we 
ascended  to  a  height  of  about  one  hundred  and 


CAVALRY   CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT.     Ill 

twenty  feet,  in  a  chair  elevated  through  the  centre 
by  ropes  and  pulleys.  Standing  on  the  platform  at 
the  top,  and  looking  through  the  signal-glass  across 
the  crooked  Appomattox,  we  had  a  better  view  of 
Petersburg  and  its  surroundings  than  from  any 
other  point,  and  could  trace  lines  of  fortifications 
both  of  besiegers  and  besieged.  Turning  in  the 
opposite  direction,  we  looked  over  a  beautiful  coun 
try  towards  Richmond,  the  church -spires  of  which 
can  be  seen  in  a  clear  day.  Just  at  the  base  of  the 
tower  is  a  little  block-house,  which,  when  our  troops 
came  in  and  took  possession  of  the  post,  was  occu 
pied  by  a  signal  corps  of  the  rebels.  So  suddenly 
did  our  men  come  upon  them,  that  they  were  all, 
eight  in  number,  either  captured  or  killed,  and  in 
the  pocket  of  one  was  found  their  signal  code. 
This  was  soon  deciphered  by  our  signallers,  who 
thus  obtained  a  key  to  the  signals  of  the  enemy. 

Nov.  22. —  To-day  received  a  large  number  of 
boxes  and  barrels  of  hospital  stores  from  an  asso 
ciation  of  ladies  known  as  "  The  Patriotic  Daugh 
ters  of  Lancaster,  Pa."  The  stores  were  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  us  at  this  time,  and  are  not 
the  first  received  from  the  same  quarter ;  they  hav 
ing  done  much  in  the  way  of  supplying  our  hospital 
with  delicacies  during  the  summer.  One  circum 
stance  connected  with  this  supply  illustrates  a  lia 
bility  common  in  the  army,  and  not  very  pleasant. 
The  stores  were  forwarded  to  Washington  by  Adams 


112     CAVALRY   CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT. 

Express,  and  thence  by  United  States  mail  steamer, 
under  care  of  a  friend.  While  on  the  steamer,  a 
barrel  of  apples  was  broken  open  and  nearly  emp 
tied,  and  a  box  in  which  had  been  packed  choice 
Madeira  wine,  when,  brought  to  my  quarters,  was 
found  to  contain  nothing  but  saw-dust  and  shavings; 
a  little  strip  having  been  broken  off  from  the  end 
of  the  box  and  every  bottle  taken  out.  I  could  not 
but  feel  grieved  that  our  sick  and  wounded  men 
were  thus  deprived  of  articles  they  so  much  need. 
It  requires  the  greatest  care  and  vigilance  to  pre 
vent  hospital  supplies,  in  transit,  from  falling  into 
the  hands  of  unprincipled  men,  who  are  always  on 
the  watch  for  them. 

A  similar  mishap  occurred  to  me  in  the  summer 
of  1863,  in  coming  from  Gettysburg  to  Sulphur 
Springs,  Va. 

In  Washington,  a  large  box  had  been  packed  for 
me,  containing  some  useful  cooking  utensils,  articles 
of  special  diet,  clothing,  stimulants,  etc.  Having 
obtained  transportation  for  it,  I  saw  it  placed  on  the 
same  train  of  cars  in  which  I  took  passage.  At 
Bealton,  the  nearest  station  to  Sulphur  Springs,  I 
inquired  for  my  box,  and  was  told  that  the  baggage 
train  had  stopped  several  miles  back,  at  Warrenton 
Junction,  but  that  it  would  come  on  the  next  day, 
and  my  box  would  be  forwarded  without  delay.  I 
went  directly  to  General  Birney's  head-quarters  at 
Sulphur  Springs,  nine  miles  from  Bealton,  and  found 


CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.     113 

in  the  regimental  hospitals  of  our  division  many 
cases  where  articles  of  special  diet  were  greatly 
needed.  But  what  could  I  do  without  my  box  ?  In 
that  was  a  complete  outfit  for  the  present  emergency, 
but  without  it  I  was  quite  powerless.  The  need 
was  pressing,  so  much  so,  that  one  of  our  doctors 
rode  one  day  twelve  miles  for  a  paper  of  corn  starch, 
and  I  made  a  journey  of  fourteen  miles  for  half  a 
bottle  of  brandy.  Every  morning  an  order  was 
sent  by  the  quartermaster  to  Bealton  to  have  the 
box  brought  up  on  an  army  wagon,  and  every 
evening  the  wagons  returned  without  it,  until  at 
length,  being  furnished  with  an  ambulance  and  a 
mounted  orderly,  I  set  out  with  the  determination 
to  find  it,  if  it  was  to  be  found.  Leaving  our  head 
quarters  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  went  first 
to  Germantown,  where  General  Meade,  who  then 
commanded  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  had  his 
head-quarters,  to  inquire  for  tidings  of  it  of  Sur 
geon-General  Letterman,  to  whose  care  it  was  con 
signed.  Not  finding  it  there,  I  next  went  to  Bealton 
Station,  where  I  learned  it  had  been  sent  to  Warren- 
ton  Junction,  and  to  that  place  I  next  went  in  pur 
suit  of  it.  There,  after  much  unnecessary  delay  on 
the  part  of  officials,  I  found  it,  and  taking  it  in  the 
ambulance  returned  to  head-quarters  by  way  of 
Warrenton,  having  ridden  thirty-five  miles. 

Being  too  weary  to  open  it  that  night,  I  sent  it  to 
a  place  of  safety,  and  early  in  the  morning  requested 

10*  II 


114     CAVALRY   CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT. 

the  services  of  one  of  our  men  for  that  purpose, 
when,  to  my  grief  and  dismay,  I  found  that  all  my 
useful  and  much  desired  articles  had  been  taken 
out,  and  the  box  rilled  with  rusty  chains,  old  halters, 
bits  of  harness  and  leather,  carefully  packed  in,  and 
covered  with  a  filthy  old  horse-blanket !  The  fraud 
had  undoubtedly  been  committed  by  the  teamsters 
at  the  station,  who,  having  taken  out  the  original 
contents,  had  filled  it  with  refuse  articles  pertaining 
to  their  vocation.  Such  is  army  life ! 

Dec.  7.  —  Within  a  few  days  two  hundred  sick 
and  wounded  have  come  in  from  the  front.  We 
hear  that  the  army  is  moving  and  a  battle  expected. 
Some  of  these  men  were  wounded  in  a  cavalry  dash, 
under  General  Gregg,  on  a  railroad  station  of  the 
rebels  at  Stony  Creek.  They  report  it  very  suc 
cessful —  destroyed  the  station,  took  two  pieces 
of  artillery,  two  hundred  and  fifty  prisoners, 
burnt  up  the  locomotives  and  a  large  quantity  of 
stores. 

One  fine,  soldierly-looking  fellow  to  whom  I  gave 
some  grapes  to-day,  said :  "  I  can  eat  now  better 
than  I  could  last  summer." 

"  You  have  been  here  before,  then  ?  " 

"Yes ;  I  was  here  last  August,  wounded  in  the  face ; 
you  can  see  the  scar  now.  You  used  to  come  in 
and  feed  me  with  mashed-potato  and  other  food 
that  could  be  easily  swallowed." 

Corporal  M.  of  the  First  Maine  Cavalry  died  this 


CAVALRY  CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.     115 

morning.  He  was  wounded  on  the  2/th  of  Oct., 
and  was  one  of  fifteen  cases  too  severe  to  be  moved, 
and  consequently  left  here  when  others,  wounded 
at  the  same  time,  were  sent  to  Washington.  He 
was  truly  a  Christian  soldier  and  faithful  unto  death. 
His  wound  was  through  the  lungs,  and,  though 
suffering  much  all  the  time,  he  never  uttered  a  word 
of  complaint.  One  day,  I  found  him  bolstered  up 
in  bed,  while  one  of  his  attendants  was  sitting  by, 
singing  the  hymn  beginning  — 

"  My  days  are  gliding  swiftly  by." 

His  difficult  breathing  and  the  expression  of  his 
countenance  showed  severe  suffering,  but  his  only 
reply  to  my  question  of  how  he  felt,  was,  "  Heaven 
ly."  The  last  time  I  saw  him  while  he  retained  his 
consciousness,  he  said,  — 

"  I  think  I  shall  go  to-night  or  to-morrow." 

"  Go  where,  Corporal  ?  " 

"  I  shall  die.  My  wound  is  large  and  my  strength 
is  small.  My  greatest  trouble  now  is  that  I  make 
so  much  work  for  the  nurses." 

He  is  the  second  of  the  fifteen  above  mentioned 
who  has  died.  The  first,  also  wounded  in  the 
lungs,  was  a  beautiful  boy  of  nineteen. 

I  grieved  much  to  see  these  men  go,  for  they 
bore  their  extreme  suffering  with  the  greatest  forti 
tude,  and  were  rare  examples  of  true  heroism.  The 
remaining  thirteen  seem  in  a  fair  way  to  recover. 


Il6    CAVALRY   CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT. 

Sergeant  Lane^  of  the  Sixteenth  Pennsylvania  Cav 
alry,  having  had  his  right  leg  amputated,  came  near 
dying  of  secondary,  hemorrhage,  but  is  now  consid 
ered  out  of  danger.  For  three  weeks  he  lay  on 
his  back  without  moving,  a  man  sitting  by  his  side, 
and  with  his  thumb  compressing  the  femoral  artery 
just  above  the  extremity  of  the  stump  ;  thus  hold 
ing  in  the  life  current  until  the  artery  could  close 
up  and  form  for  itself  a  ligature. 

Dec.  12. —  Received  from  ladies  in  Bangor,  Maine, 
a  generous  donation  of  clothing,  jellies,  wines,  with 
many  other  useful  articles,  and  fifty  dollars  in 
money,  for  the  use  of  the  sick  and  wounded  in  our 
hospital. 

Fifty  wounded  men  came  in  yesterday,  and  about 
the  same  number  to-day. 

In  making  my  rounds  in  the  wards,  to-day,  I 
found  one  fine-looking,  young  soldier  pierced  with 
twenty-two  gunshot  wounds.  Some  of  them  are 
severe,  though  there  are  none  that  seem  likely  to 
prove  fatal.  He  had  been  doing  picket  duty,  and 
was  lying  with  a  relief-party  near  the  picket  line, 
when  they  were  suddenly  awakened  from  sleep  by 
a  small  squad  of  rebel  cavalry  dashing  in  among 
them  and  firing.  The  party  instantly  threw  up 
their  arms  in  token  of  surrender;  but  the  rebels 
continued  to  fire  until  they  had  killed  or  wounded 
nearly  every  man  of  the  party,  and  then  galloped 
off.  A  brother  of  this  poor  fellow,  belonging  to 


CAVALRY   CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.     II/ 

the  party,  in  attempting  to  escape,  fell  down  in  the 
darkness,  and  was  run  over  and  badly  bruised  by 
one  of  the  horsemen.  After  they  had  dispersed, 
finding  himself  alone,  he  got  up  and  groped  his 
way  to  the  nearest  picket-post,  and  the  next  day 
was  brought  into  our  hospital.  He  had  spoken  to 
me  of  this  brother  with  great  anxiety,  fearing  that 
he  was  either  killed  or  captured.  It  was,  therefore, 
a  joyful  surprise  when,  yesterday,  he  was  brought 
into  the  same  ward  and  laid  by  his  side. 

Yesterday,  my  attention  was  attracted  to  a  man 
wounded  through  the  body,  the  expression  of  whose 
countenance  indicated  unusual  suffering,  and  that 
his  days  were  nearly  numbered.  Opposite  him  lay 
a  man,  somewhat  older  than  himself,  who  had  re 
ceived  a  similar  wound  while  attempting  to  bring 
him  off  the  field.  To-day  they  are  both  dead. 

Dec.  1 6.  —  I  have  just  removed  my  quarters,  from 
the  tent  which  I  have  occupied  since  May,  to  a 
wooden  building  put  up  by  the  Christian  Commis 
sion  for  the  use  of  the  hospital.  Its  dimensions 
are  sixty  feet  by  twenty-one.  It  is  situated  in  a 
central  locality,  and  consists  of  a  large  kitchen  for 
the  preparation  of  special  diet,  a  capacious  store 
room,  reception  and  sleeping  rooms.  The  money 
it  costs  is  well  appropriated,  and  will  greatly  in 
crease  our  facilities  for  making  the  patients  comfort 
able,  as  up  to  this  time  all  our  cooking  operations 
have  been  performed  under  a  fly.  It  is  an  era  in 


IlS     CAVALRY   CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY    POINT. 

my  hospital  life  —  leaving  the  simple  tent  which 
has  so  long  sheltered  me,  and  taking  possession  of 
these  spacious  apartments,  with  their  boarded  walls 
and  floors,  glass  windows  to  look  out  of,  and  doors 
turning  on  hinges,  with  locks  and  keys.  Luxuries 
to  which  I  have  become  quite  unaccustomed. 

This  morning,  about  one  hundred  of  our  sick 
and  wounded  were  sent  to  Washington.  Many  of 
them  were  in  great  suffering.  A  corporal,  wounded 
in  the  shoulder,  was  shaking  with  a  chill  while 
being  borne  on  the  stretcher  to  the  steamer.  An 
other,  a  fine  young  fellow  —  so  anxious  to  go 
that  the  doctor  yielded  to  his  wishes,  though  he 
was  evidently  almost  gone — died  before  he  could  be 
removed  from  the  stretcher.  Others  were  in  great 
agony  from  fractured  bones.  Several  of  their  com 
rades,  wounded  a  few  days  since,  have  died. 

Jan.  12,  1865.  —  It  is  nearly  a  month  since  I 
made  an  entry  in  my  journal,  during  which  time 
our  hospital  has  been  holding  on  the  even  tenor  of 
its  way,  though  not  without  some  events  of  interest 
and  importance.  Among  the  number  of  deaths  is 
that  of  Sergeant  Buzzell,  of  the  First  Maine  Cav 
alry,  wounded  below  the  knee,  on  the  2/th  of  Oc 
tober.  He  died  just  as  the  old  year  was  going  out. 
His  case  was  one  of  those  which  so  often  occur  in 
military  hospitals,  when,  in  hope  of  saving  a  limb, 
amputation  is  deferred  until  it  is  too  late  to  save 
life. 


CAVALRY   CORPS    HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.      IIQ 

He  was  a  brave  soldier,  beloved  and  respected  in 
his  regiment,  and  an  object  of  interest  to  all  who 
knew  him  in  the  hospital.  He  clung  with  great 
tenacity  to  life,  with  all  its  alluring  prospects  ;  but 
when  he  found  there  was  uncertainty  in  his  case, 
he  looked  death  calmly  in  the  face,  and  began  earn 
estly  to  make  preparations  for  an  encounter  with 
the  last  enemy.  He  said,  one  day,  to  an  attendant, 
"  Oh,  that  the  Saviour  would  only  pass  by,  that  I 
might  with  my  hand  touch  the  hem  of  his  gar 
ment ;"  and  begged  his  friends  to  pray  for  him, 
that,  if  it  were  possible,  his  life  might  be  spared, 
but  if  it  could  not  be,  that  he  might  be  prepared 
to  die.  Sustaining  faith  and  glorious  hope  came 
at  last,  and  he  died  with  the  soldier's  watchword 
on  his  lips  — "  All  right !  " 

He  received,  from  the  first  moment  of  his  enter 
ing  the  hospital,  the  most  unremitting  and  faithful 
attentions  from  his  comrades  on  duty  as  nurses. 
Indeed,  the  patience  and  fidelity  with  which  these 
men  discharge  their  duties,  often  affords  me  matter 
of  sincere  admiration.  It  is  a  chapter  in  the  history 
of  the  war  which  can  never  be  fully  written  out. 
Watching  their  patients  day  and  night  with  the  kind 
ness  and  solicitude  of  brothers, —  even  when  their 
wounds  have  arrived  at  such  a  stage  that  it  is  im 
possible  to  breathe  the  same  atmosphere  without 
risk  to  health,  if  not  to  life,—  and  when  all  efforts 
are  unavailing,  and  it  becomes  certain  that  no  hu- 


I2O    CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT. 

man  power  can  ward  off  from  the  poor  sufferer  the 
grasp  of  death,  with  what  grief  do  they  witness  his 
departure,  and  with  what  tenderness  perform  for  his 
mortal  remains  the  last  offices  of  affection. 

Passing  through  the  wards,  to-day,  a  young  rebel 
prisoner,  a  Mr.  Mason,  of  Virginia,  who  has  been  with 
us  several  months,  called  me  to  his  bed  and  begged 
my  acceptance  of  a  ring,  made  of  bone,  in  token  of 
his  gratitude  for  what  I  had  done  for  himself  and 
comrades.  "  It  is  too  large  for  you  to  wear,"  he 
said,  "  but  please  keep  it  in  remembrance  of  the 
Johnnies" 

We  have  always  had  in  our  hospitals  a  greater  or 
less  number  of  rebel  prisoners,  and  I  have  never 
known  them  to  be  treated  with  less  attention  than 
our  own  men.  As  they  lie  side  by  side  in  the 
wards,  I  often  pass  among  them  without  knowing 
the  rebel  from  the  Union  soldiers,  and,  in  their 
helpless  condition,  do  not  care  to  inquire.  They 
affiliate  readily  with  our  men,  and  seem  for  the 
most  part  religiously  inclined.  I  believe  they  have 
received  the  same  treatment  as  our  own  men,  both 
in  hospitals  and  prisons,  all  through  the  army;  and 
I  have  known  parents  at  the  South,  who  had  sons 
in  the  Union  prisons,  to  decline  offers  of  exchange, 
because  they  believed  them  to  be  better  off  in  a 
Northern  prison  than  in  the  Southern  army. 

Our  friends  at  home  did  not  forget  us  during  the 
holidays.  From  the  directors  of  the  United  States 


CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT.     121 

Mint  at  Philadelphia,  we  received  supplies  for  an 
elegant  Christmas  dinner,  sufficient  in  quantity  to 
feast  the  entire  hospital.  Turkeys  and  chickens 
nicely  cooked,  cheese,  butter,  bread,  cranberry  sauce, 
celery,  pies,  cakes,  peaches,  tomatoes,  and  apples, 
furnished  to  our  cavalry-men  a  dinner  which  we 
think  was  not  surpassed  by  any  in  the  army.  It 
was  served  in  the  wards  to  those  unable  to  go  out ; 
but  for  others  a  newly-finished  barrack  was  fitted 
up,  ornamented  on  the  walls  with  wreaths  of  ever 
green,  in  which  the  red  and  white  berries  of  holly 
and  mistletoe  were  conspicuous,  and  mottoes  ap 
propriate  to  the  occasion.  Tables  were  laid,  long 
enough  to  seat  two  hundred  at  a  time,  and  these 
were  crowded  three  times  in  succession  with  conva 
lescents,  nurses,  and  others  employed  in  various 
capacities  about  the  hospital ;  and  while  they  did 
ample  justice  to  the  viands,  we  were  glad  to  be 
assured  that  there  was  enough  for  all. 

Jan.  14.  —  Yesterday  the  monotony  of  hospital 
life  was  varied  by  a  ride  with  a  party  of  friends  to 
Dutch  Gap.  Crossing  the  Appomattox  on  the 
pontoon  bridge,  we  drove  about  six  miles  to  the 
James  River,  which  we  crossed  in  the  same  manner 
to  Aikin's  Landing.  There  we  visited  the  double- 
turreted  iron-clad  monitor  Onondaga,  one  of  the 
finest  of  that  class  of  gunboats.  Commander  Par 
ker  entertained  our  party  most  courteously  for  a 
few  hours,  and,  after  we  had  lunched  in  his  elegant 
ii 


122     CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT. 

little  cabin,  kindly  gave  us  the  use  of  a  little  steam 
launch,  used  as  a  torpedo-boat,  for  running  up  to 
the  Gap. 

Dutch  Gap  is  an  immense  cut  through  a  strip  of 
land  about  one  hundred  and  thirty  yards  in  width, 
but  so  long  as  to  make  a  bend  of  seven  miles  in 
the  river ;  and  it  was  in  order  to  shorten  by  this 
distance  the  navigation  for  our  army  on  the  James, 
that  General  Butler  conceived  the  idea  of  cutting 
a  passage  of  sufficient  dimensions  for  the  James 
River  to  flow  through.  As  going  from  Aikin's 
Landing  to  the  Gap  is  running  the  gauntlet  of  the 
guns  of  Howlitt  House  battery  and  the  rebel  sharp 
shooters  along  the  river  bank,  it  was  somewhat 
hazardous,  but  was  accomplished  safely  in  fifteen 
minutes.  We  landed  at  the  Gap,  ascended  the  hill, 
walked  across  the  narrow  strip  of  land,  looked 
down  into  the  chasm  through  which  the  water  was 
rushing  with  great  force,  examined  at  leisure  with 
our  field-glasses  the  rebel  fort  Howlitt  and  other 
objects  of  interest,  including  rebel  troops  on  dress 
parade,  and  returned  by  the  same  route  as  we  had 
come,  arriving  home  late  at  night,  after  driving 
over  such  roads  as  are  common  at  this  season  of 
the  year  in  Virginia,  but  which  can  be  appreciated 
only  by  those  familiar  with  them. 

Feb.  8.  —  For  several  days  there  had  been 
rumors  of  an  important  movement  of  the  army,  and 
we  were  not  surprised  on  the  6th  to  hear  heavy 


CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT.     123 

cannonading  on  our  left.  The  night  following  was 
cold  and  stormy  with  sleet  and  snow,  and  the  next 
morning  was  one  of  the  most  dismal  of  the  winter. 
But  at  an  early  hour  ambulances  came  in  with 
wounded  men,  succeeded  by  many  more  during  the 
day,  from  the  fight  at  Hatcher's  Run.  The  suffer 
ings  of  these  poor  fellows  were  greatly  augmented 
by  exposure  to  cold  and  storm,  after  being  wounded. 
The  cavalry  was  heavily  engaged,  and  lost  many. 

Hearing  that  some  had  been  brought  in  dead,  I 
went  this  morning  to  the  tent  used  as  a  receptacle 
for  such,  to  see  if  any  whom  I  knew  were  among 
them.  They  were  lying  stiff  and  cold  in  the  uniform 
in  which  they  had  gone  out  to  battle.  As  I  drew 
aside  the  blue  coat-capes  which  covered  their  faces, 
great  was  my  surprise  and  grief  to  recognize  two 
young  officers  who  were  lately  in  our  hospital  with 
wounds.  One,  an  especial  friend,  Captain  Harper 
of  the  Fourth  Pennsylvania  Cavalry,  called  at  my 
quarters  only  a  few  days  since.  He  had  then  just 
returned  from  a  leave  of  absence,  during  which  he 
had  visited  his  home.  Full  of  life  and  spirits,  in 
his  new  cavalry  uniform,  and  mounted  on  a  power 
ful  horse,  he  looked  the  picture  of  a  gallant  soldier. 
Now  he  lies  outstretched  in  his  rough  coffin,  with 
features  rigid  in  death,  waiting  a  soldier's  burial. 
By  his  side  lie  two  noble-looking  young  privates, 
both  shot  through  the  head.  This  evening,  Colonel 
T.,  of  the  Tenth  New  York  Cavalry,  having  died  of 


124     CAVALRY   CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY   POINT. 

his   wounds   since   he    came   in,  is   added   to   the 
number. 

Feb.  17. —  This  morning  I  had  the  pleasure  of  a 
short  social  interview  with  General  and  Mrs.  Grant 
at  the  head-quarters  of  the  army.  The  General's 
quiet  manners  and  grave  deportment  suit  well  a 
man  to  whom  the  attention  of  the  world  is  directed, 
and  who  has  on  his  mind  affairs  so  weighty  and  im 
portant,  and  Mrs.  Grant  seems  well  adapted  to  her 
position  as  his  wife.  We  had  likewise  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  Brigadier -General  Patrick,  "Provost- 
Marshal  General  of  the  armies  operating  against 
Richmond,"  a  fine,  soldierly-looking,  elderly  gentle 
man,  a  friend  to  all  who  are  the  soldiers'  friends, 
and  invariably  using  the  great  influence  of  his  posi 
tion  for  the  defence  of  right  and  the  suppression 
of  wrong.  Two  men,  these,  of  whom  their  country 
may  be  proud. 

Feb.  26.  —  Last  evening  we  again  heard  heavy 
cannonading  on  our  left,  and  to-day  hear  that  it 
was  the  rebels  firing  on  some  of  their  own  men  de 
serting  to  our  lines.  This  is  of  late  a  frequent  oc 
currence.  About  two  hundred  came  in  last  evening, 
and  it  is  said  they  average  this  number  daily.  These 
indications  of  demoralization  in  Lee's  army,  together 
with  recent  successes  of  our  own  army,  give  hope 
that  the  long  agony  of  civil  war  is  nearly  over. 

Mar.  28. — Visited,  in  company  with  Miss  Bridget 
Deavers,  two  large  camps  of  dismounted  cavalry- 


CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT.     12$ 

men  lying  along  the  James  River,  a  few  miles  from 
City  Point.  Bridget — or,  as  the  men  call  her,  Biddy 
—  has  probably  seen  more  of  hardship  and  danger 
than  any  other  woman  during  the  war.  She  has 
been  with  the  cavalry  all  the  time,  going  out  with 
them  on  their  cavalry  raids  —  always  ready  to 
succor  the  wounded  on  the  field  —  often  getting 
men  off  who,  but  for  her,  would  be  left  to  die,  and, 
fearless  of  shell  or  bullet,  among  the  last  to  leave. 

Protected  by  officers  and  respected  by  privates, 
with  her  little  sunburnt  face,  she  makes  her  home 
in  the  saddle  or  the  shelter-tent;  often,  indeed,  sleep 
ing  in  the  open  air  without  a  tent,  and  by  her  cour 
age  and  devotion  "winning  golden  opinions  from 
all  sorts  of  people." 

She  is  an  Irish  woman,  has  been  in  the  country 
sixteen  years,  and  is  now  twenty-six  years  of  age. 

"  Where  is  the  nice  little  horse  you  had  with  you 
at  the  hospital  last  summer,  Bridget  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Moseby  captured  that  from  me.  He  came 
in  while  I  was  lying  asleep  on  the  ground,  and  took 
my  horse  and  orderly.  I  jumped  up  and  ran 
away." 

One  of  the  above-mentioned  camps  consists  of 
men  just  come  in  from  Sheridan's  last  raid,  having 
been  during  the  past  winter  in  the  valley  of  the 
Shenandoah.  We  found  them  lying  under  their 
shelter-tents  or  sitting  on  the  ground  in  front  of 
them,  boiling  coffee  over  their  camp-fires  and  eating 


126    CAVALRY  CORPS   HOSPITAL,  CITY  POINT. 

their  rations  of  salt  pork  and  hard  tack.  They 
looked  tired  and  sunburnt,  but  were  every  moment 
expecting  horses  and  a  call  to  "  boots  and  saddles." 
Having  distributed  socks,  handkerchiefs,  towels, 
and  some  articles  of  clothing  which  we  brought  for 
them,  and  partaken  of  Bridget's  simple  fare,  sitting 
on  a  blanket  in  front  of  her  tent,  we  remounted  our 
horses  and  rode  along  the  river-side  to  the  other 
camp,  which  is  a  more  permanent  institution. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  FOURTH  OF  APRIL,  1865. 

THE  Fourth  of  April,  1865,  unlike  many  of  its 
predecessors,  dawned  peacefully  and  brightly 
at  City  Point,  Va. 

From  the  moment  when,  at  early  dawn  on  the 
25th  of  March,  we  had  heard  heavy  cannonading 
at  Fort  Steadman,  which,  though  at  the  time  we 
were  ignorant  of  its  meaning,  proved  to  be  the 
reveille  of  the  spring  campaign,  all  had  been  eager 
curiosity  and  anxious  expectation. 

Day  by  day  there  had  been  heavy  firing,  some 
times  near,  sometimes  more  distant.  Day  by  day, 
we  had  seen  but  one  phase  of  its  results,  in  ex 
hausted,  lacerated  forms  —  many  of  them  friends 
and  old  acquaintances  —  laid  along  on  straw  in  the 
crowded  box-cars,  as  they  came  in  train  after  train 
from  the  battle-field,  and  thence  borne  to  the  hos 
pitals,  or  the  transports  lying  at  the  wharf. 

The  gun-boats  and  all  the  troops  having  been 
within  a  few  days  withdrawn  from  City  Point,  which 
had  for  more  than  nine  months  been  the  base  of 
army  operations,  the  great  hospitals  with  their 
long  lines  of  tents  and  barracks,  and  thousands  of 
wounded  men,  as  well  as  the  vast  quantities  of 

127 


128  THE    FOURTH    OF    APRIL,   1865. 

government  stores,  —  supplies  for  the  grand  army, 
—  were  left  without  military  protection ;  and  as  we 
were  totally  ignorant  of  how  things  were  going  at 
the  front,  we  were  not  without  anxiety  lest  the 
rebels  should  break  through  and  make  a  raid  on  us. 
There  was  indeed  such  an  attempt  on  the  evening 
of  the  29th  of  March,  when  at  half-past  ten  we 
were  electrified  by  a  sudden  outburst  of  musketry 
and  artillery,  which  continued,  in  a  prolonged,  deaf 
ening  roar,  without  a  moment's  letting  down,  for  one 
hour,  then  with  slight  intervals  for  an  hour  or  two 
more ;  while  in  the  direction  of  Petersburg,  shells 
were  continuously  flying  up  and  swooping  over  like 
rockets,  and  the  sky  all  aglow  with  those  death- 
dealing  pyrotechnics.  Then  came  on  a  pouring 
rain,  the  sounds  ceased,  and  we  could  breathe  freely 
again. 

Then  in  the  early  dawn  of  April  3d,  we  were 
startled  from  our  beds  by  terrific  explosions  in  the 
direction  of  Richmond  —  concussion  breaking  on 
concussion,  roar  upon  roar,  louder  than  the  loud 
est  thunder;  the  earth  trembling  as  if  affrighted, 
and  the  sky  lighted  with  an  angry  flare.  It  was 
then  that  the  Confederate  iron-clads  and  bridges 
on  the  James  River  were  blown  up,  and  Richmond 
fired  by  its  defenders.  But  the  end  of  these  fearful 
catastrophes  was  at  hand.  Before  another  sunset, 
tidings  came  for  which  we  had  long  waited  and 
prayed,  but  scarcely  dared  hope  —  Petersburg  and 


THE    FOURTH    OF    APRIE,   1865.  129 

Richmond  are  evacuated  by  the  rebel  army  and 
occupied  by  our  troops !  The  rebellion  has  col 
lapsed  ! 

So,  as  I  have  said,  the  4th  dawned  peacefully 
over  City  Point,  and  anthems  of  praise  to  God 
went  up  where  many  lives  were  still  ebbing  away 
in  completion  of  the  great  sacrifice. 

Then  there  was  a  general  turning  of  faces  towards 
Petersburg.  All  who  could,  were  anxious  to  see 
for  themselves  the  city,  insignificant  in  itself,  but 
great  in  its  relations  to  the  rebellion,  which  our 
army  had  so  long  been  watching,  on  whose  shining 
spires  and  fortifications  we  had  often  gazed  with 
curiosity,  but  which  had  hitherto  been  hermetically 
sealed  to  our  approach. 

It  was  not  easy  just  then  to  procure  horses  or  an 
ambulance,  because  everything  in  that  line  was 
needed  at  the  front,  and  the  quartermasters  —  I 
often  wondered  at  their  patience  —  were  getting 
tired  of  such  requisitions  from  the  sanitary  women — 
a  term  which  they  applied  indiscriminately  to  all 
women  connected  with  the  hospitals.  By  the 
special  indulgence,  however,  of  my  friend  Dr.  John 
M.  Kollock,  "  Chief  Inspector  of  Depot  Field  Hos 
pitals  at  City  Point,"  I  was  favored  with  an  ambu 
lance,  and  having  invited  two  of  my  "sanitary 
friends," — Mrs.  Mary  Hill  and  Miss  Virginia  Hart, 
—  to  accompany  me,  started  at  an  early  hour  for  a 
drive  of  nine  miles  to  Petersburg.  Our  driver  was 

I 


I3O  THE    FOURTH    OF    APRIL,   1865. 

a  "contraband"  just  brought  in,  who  had,  he  said, 
"  been  driving  three  years  for  Mars'r  Davis,  but  was 
now  gwine  to  drive  for  Mars'r  Linkum." 

We  had  little  difficulty  in  finding  the  way,  for 
everything  that  was  moving  was  going  in  one 
and  the  same  direction.  Squads  of  cavalry-men, 
soldiers  and  civilians  on  foot,  parties  of  refugees, 
black  and  white,  in  old  Virginia  wagons,  returning 
to  homes  whence  they  had  long  been  exiled, 
thronged  the  way. 

The  first  evidence  that  the  rebellion  had  indeed 
collapsed,  was  the  unguarded  state  of  our  line  of 
earthworks  around  City  Point.  Where  (unless 
escorted  by  Federal  officers)  we  had  before  been 
challenged  by  mounted  sentinels  with  drawn  sabres, 
there  was  now  nothing  to  obstruct  our  way.  Forts 
which  had  hitherto  been  mounted  with  dark- 
mouthed  cannon,  like  crouching  monsters  ready  at 
a  moment's  warning  to  belch  forth  death  and  de 
struction,  were  dismantled.  On  an  open  plateau 
we  turned  aside  while  a  line  of  from  two  to  three 
thousand  prisoners  of  war  passed  under  guard,  on 
their  way  to  City  Point.  They  had  been  captured  by 
the  Sixth  and  Ninth  Corps  while  making  a  desper 
ate  fight  for  the  inner  cordon  of  works  about  Peters 
burg.  They  were  better  clothed  than  their  comrades 
whom  we  had  seen  in  the  early  days  of  the  war, 
looked  defiant  and  plucky,  and  some  declared  that 
the  "  Yanks  have  not  conquered  them,  and  never 


THE    FOURTH     OF    APRIL,     1865.  13! 

will."  Others  saluted  us  pleasantly  as  they  passed. 
While  we  waited,  the  young  Ohio  officer  who  had 
them  in  charge,  came  up  to  our  ambulance  and  told 
us  all  he  knew  of  the  situation,  for  we,  having  no 
daily  journal  of  current  events,  were  far  more  igno 
rant  on  these  points  than  were  our  friends  at  home. 
"  It  is  rumored,"  he  said,  "  that  Lee  has  surrendered 
with  20,000  men."  This  was  a  mistake.  Lee  was 
that  day  at  Amelia,  on  his  way  to  Appomattox 
Court-House,  where  he  surrendered  on  the  pth. 

At  length,  by  a  turn  in  the  road,  we  were  suddenly 
brought  in  full  sight  of  the  "  Cockade  City."  There 
it  lay,  spread  out  under  the  bright  sunshine,  as  quiet 
and  beautiful  as  if  no  cannon-ball  or  fiery  bomb 
shell  had  ever  gone  screeching  over  it.  The  trees 
were  in  their  tender,  early  foliage,  the  gardens  gay 
with  spring  flowers.  The  blinds  were  closed  on 
the  windows.  There  were  but  few  ladies  in  the 
streets,  and  these,  we  noted,  wore  garments  in  the 
styles  of  four  years  ago,  showing  that  the  blockade- 
runners  did  not  bring  them  the  latest  London  and 
Paris  fashions.  One  elderly  lady,  richly  dressed, 
walked  slowly  along,  with  her  white  handkerchief 
held  closely  to  her  eyes,  as  if  she  could  not  bear  to 
witness  the  overthrow  of  her  beloved  city,  or  per 
haps  her  heart  was  breaking  for  sons  or  brothers 
slain  in  battle.  As  often  as  we  stopped,  poor  women, 
white  and  black,  gathered  around  our  ambulance. 
They  had  baskets  on  their  arms,  and  had  been 


132  THE    FOURTH    OF    APRIL,   1865. 

walking  about  since  sunrise,  in  hope  of  finding 
something  wherewith  to  satisfy  the  demands  of 
hunger,  which  had  been  unappeased  for  several 
days.  It  was  time  the  city  had  surrendered,  for  it 
was  on  the  eve  of  starvation.  "If  there  was  food 
in  the  town,  they  could  not  buy,  with  meat  six 
dollars  a  pound,  and  flour  a  thousand  dollars  a 
barrel."  They  thank  God  that  the  Union  army  has 
at  length  come  in.  Have  been  praying  for  it  so 
long,  day  and  night. 

"  Were  you  not  frightened  to  see  so  many 
soldiers  ?  " 

"  Not  so  much  as  we  expected  to  be.  They  had 
told  us  so  many  frightful  stories  about  the  Yankees; 
but  they  came  in  so  quietly,  and  seemed  so  friendly, 
that  we  soon  got  over  our  fears." 

At  the  corner  of  one  of  the  principal  streets  we 
stopped  to  see  the  Ninth  Corps  pass.  They  marched 
with  martial  music  and  waving  banners,  but  with 
no  look  of  exultation,  through  the  conquered  city, 
for  to  them  it  was  no  holiday  parade.  They  had 
fought  like  giants  to  obtain  this  consummation,  and 
had  left  thousands  of  their  comrades  "  dead  on  the 
field  of  honor." 

Here  a  young  cavalry-man,  Maloney,  whom  we 
had  known  at  the  hospital,  rode  up  and  offered  to 
serve  us  as  escort.  He  had  been  riding  hard  with 
despatches  to  an  officer  at  the  front,  and  was  on  his 
way  back  to  City  Point. 


THE    FOURTH     OF    APRIL,    1865.  133 

Alighting  at  a  hardware  store,  we  were  attracted 
by  rows  of  English-looking  cans  in  the  windows. 
"  They  are  the  cans  in  which  were  imported  beef 
and  mutton  for  our  army,"  said  the  shopkeeper. 
"The  blockade-runners  brought  them  in  great 
quantities,  and  our  soldiers  were  glad  to  sell  the 
empty  cans.  I  sometimes  paid  as  high  as  five  dol 
lars  apiece  for  them.  I  preferred  rather  to  put  my 
money  in  these  than  to  keep  it,  as  I  knew  the  Con 
federacy  would  soon  go  up,  and  then  it  would  be 
worthless."  He  had  transformed  many  into  cups 
and  a  variety  of  culinary  dishes,  the  tin  covered 
with  a  ground  of  clear  brown,  on  which  were  the 
well-preserved  yellow  stamps,  with  English  armorial 
bearings  and  the  motto,  "  In  hoc  signo  spes  mea." 

We  purchased  one  as  a  memento  of  the  love  of 
our  brethren  across  the  sea.  In  another  store  a  fine 
display  of  French  and  English  chinaware  won  our 
admiration.  As  we  made  a  small  investment  in 
that  line,  we  asked, — 

"  Did  you  have  this  on  hand  before  the  war,  or 
is  it  of  recent  importation  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  been  importing  it  all  along.  It  was 
easy  for  me  to  keep  up  my  supply  until  we  lost 
Wilmington." 

Observing  a  tobacco  warehouse  open,  and  some 
of  our  men  bringing  out  tobacco  ad  libitum,  we, 
with  the  help  of  Maloney,  transferred  a  generous 
quantity  to  our  ambulance,  which  we  distributed 

12 


134  THE    FOURTH    OF    APRIL,    1865. 

next  day  to  the  men  in  our  hospitals,  much  to 
their  delight;  those  who  did  not  use  it  themselves, 
wishing  for  a  piece  to  keep  as  a  memento  or  to 
"  send  home  to  father."  Leaving  Petersburg  on 
our  return,  we  took  a  road  leading  through  the  in- 
trenchments.  All  along  the  road  lay  the  debris  of 
battle  — torn  garments,  caps,  shoes,  canteens,  haver 
sacks,  belts  —  intermingled  with  abundant  cannon- 
balls,  solid  shot,  and  exploded  shells,  as  well  as 
many  shells  not  exploded,  to  which,  in  passing,  we 
gave  a  wide  berth.  In  the  forts  we  gathered  a  few 
relics  left  by  the  soldiers  in  their  sudden  departure. 

Half-way  between  two  lines  of  rebel  breastworks 
lay  a  rebel  officer,  unburied.  He  was  shot  through 
the  head,  fell  backwards,  and  lay  with  his  face  to 
the  sky,  one  delicate  hand  thrown  up,  just  as  the 
surprised  soul  left  the  body.  Poor,  lifeless  form, 
we  would,  were  it  possible,  give  you  burial ! 

Passing  through  our  own  inside  line  of  fortifica 
tions,  we  came  to  the  deserted  camps  of  the  Ninth 
Corps.  They  looked  like  a  miniature  city,  with 
their  long,  regular  streets  of  little  wooden  huts, 
from  which,  when  the  men  went  out  to  battle,  they 
took  the  shelter-tents  which  had  served  as  roofs. 

Near  the  camping  ground  were  three  recently- 
prepared  cemeteries  for  the  dead  of  the  three  divi 
sions,  for  within  the  last  few  days  the  Ninth  Corps 
has  poured  out  its  blood  like  water.  Each  was 
enclosed  by  an  ornamental  fence,  such  as  our  soldiers 


THE   FOURTH    OF    APRIL,   1865.  135 

know  so  well  how  to  build.  Here,  on  the  broad, 
open  field,  lay  the  dead  who  fell  in  storming  the  Con 
federate  works  on  the  2d.  They  were  laid  in  rows, 
side  by  side,  in  their  blue  over-coats,  which  were 
their  only  wrappings  for  the  grave,  to  which  were 
pinned  slips  of  paper  bearing  their  names,  to 
be  transferred  to  their  head-boards.  A  hundred 
men  had  been  at  this  work  since  daylight,  and, 
with  the  sun  near  setting,  there  still  remained  near 
ly  three  hundred  to  be  buried.  We  alighted  and 
walked  reverently  and  tearfully  through  the  ranks 
of  these  slain  heroes.  Brave  men,  ye  died  for  us ! 
God  help  your  countrymen  to  preserve  unsullied 
that  national  honor  in  defence  of  which  you  fell ! 

In  the  presence  of  these  witnesses,  who  have 
offered  up  their  lives,  we  ask :  "  Shall  all  the  out 
poured  blood  and  nameless  agony  of  the  last  four 
years  be  in  vain  ?  Can  we  ever  forget  the  great 
price  at  which  this  day  of  victory  has  been  ob 
tained,  or  count  for  less  than  a  holy  thing  the  blood 
with  which  a  United  Country  has  been  rebaptized  ?" 


CHAPTER   X. 

AFTER   THE  SURRENDER. 

ON  Sunday  evening,  the  pth  of  April,  there 
were  signs  of  rejoicing  at  City  Point.  On 
the  open  space  of  the  great  hospital  there  was  an 
immense  bonfire,  and  around  its  weird  light  gath 
ered  a  crowd  of  soldiers  and  citizens,  many  of  the 
former  worn  and  crippled  or  maimed;  and  while 
every  available  combustible  was  piled  upon  the 
flames,  they  listened  to  or  related  with  eager  interest 
every  particular  that  had  reached  them  of  the  great 
event  of  the  day  —  Lee's  Surrender ! 

Another  week  passed,  and  on  the  i6th  the  joy  at 
the  promise  of  returning  peace  was  overshadowed 
by  the  terrible  announcement  that  President  Lin 
coln  had  been  assassinated ! 

The  rumor  had  reached  us  in  the  early  morning, 
but  had  been  rejected  as  too  dreadful  to  be  possi 
ble.  Still,  nothing  else  was  talked  or  thought  of 
during  the  day,  and  the  gloom  of  an  anxious  fore 
boding  spread  through  the  camps.  In  the  after 
noon  I  had  occasion  to  call  at  the  quartermaster's 
department  at  City  Point,  where,  as  everywhere, 
the  rumor  was  the  subject  of  conversation.  An 
officer  remarked  that  the  report  still  wanted  official 

136 


AFTER    THE    SURRENDER.  137 

confirmation,  as  might  be  known  from  the  fact  that 
flags  on  all  the  shipping  in  the  river  were  flying  at 
mast-head.  As  he  spoke,  all  eyes  naturally  turned 
to  the  window,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the 
gun-boats  and  other  shipping  on  the  James  River, 
and  at  the  instant  we  saw  every  flag  lowered.  The 
effect  on  every  one  was  like  the  announcement  of  a 
personal  bereavement.  Tears  started  to  every  eye, 
mixed  with  exclamations  of  grief  and  imprecations 
on  the  assassin.  It  was  just  a  week  before,  on  Sun 
day  the  Qth,  that,  on  the  occasion  of  President  Lin 
coln's  leaving  the  harbor  in  his  gun-boat,  the  salute 
had  been  so  heavy  and  general  as,  for  the  time,  to 
have  the  effect  of  a  naval  battle ;  and  the  day  pre 
vious,  his  carriage  had  been  standing  in  the  hospital 
grounds  all  day,  while  he  was  passing  from  ward  to 
ward,  visiting  and  cheering  with  his  presence  and 
kind  words  the  wounded  men.  When  a  friend, 
fearing  he  would  overfatigue  himself,  remonstrated, 
he  replied,  "  I  must  see  as  many  of  them  as  possi 
ble  ;  it  may  be  long  before  I  shall  again  have  oppor 
tunity  to  shake  hands  with  a  wounded  soldier." 

At  no  moment  had  the  wisdom  of  President 
Lincoln's  administration  been  more  amply  vindi 
cated,  both  at  home  and  abroad ;  never  did  his 
fame  shine  with  a  brighter  lustre;  never  was  his 
name  dearer  to  the  heart  of  the  nation — than  when 
Booth's  pistol  did  its  deadly  work,  and  robbed  our 
country  of  its  brightest  ornament. 

12* 


138  AFTER    THE    SURRENDER. 

On  the  I /th,  accompanied  by  Bridget  Devers,  I 
took  a  train,  going  out  to  the  front,  with  sanitary 
supplies  for  some  wounded  cavalry-meri,  of  whom 
we  had  heard  that  they  were  in  great  suffering. 
The  cars,  having  stopped  three  or  four  hours  within 
a  dozen  miles,  pushed  on  to  Ford's  Station,  where 
they  made  a  general  "  break  down,"  and  there  was 
no  possibility  of  their  getting  farther  at  that  time. 
We  stepped  out,  and  making  our  way  through  other 
trains  of  cars  crowded  in  from  front  and  rear,  and  a 
promiscuous  assemblage  of  men,  horses,  wagons, 
and  tents,  we  were  accosted  by  a  thin-looking, 
thinly-clothed  woman,  in  a  Shaker  bonnet, — 

"  Please,  madam,  can  you  tell  me  what  I  am  to 
do  ?  Your  soldiers  have  taken  everything  from 
me.  They  have  left  me  not  a  particle  of  food,  and 
I  know  not  where  to  get  any." 

"There  is  the  sutler's  tent;  can't  you  buy  some 
thing  there  ?" 

"  But  they  will  not  take  our  money,  and  I  have 
no  greenbacks" 

We  walked  with  her  to  her  house,  a  good-look 
ing,  two-storied  white  house,  with  green  blinds, 
standing  picturesquely  in  a  grove  of  large,  old 
trees.  We  were  welcome  to  stay  in  the  house  as 
long  as  we  chose,  but  her  hospitality  must  of  ne 
cessity  end  with  the  bare  shelter.  Her  husband  had 
been  a  teacher,  and  they  were  both  intelligent  and 
respectable,  but  much  depressed  and  discouraged. 


AFTER    THE    SURRENDER.  139 

Their  house  was  stripped  of  bedding,  clothing,  food, 
cooking-utensils — almost  everything.  Half-a-dozen 
cracked  dishes,  a  few  silver  spoons  which  had  been 
hidden  away,  and  an  iron  tea-kettle,  completed  the 
inventory  of  their  household  possessions.  Fortu 
nately,  I  had  brought  a  few  cooking-utensils,  and 
with  sundry  purchases  from  the  sutler,  and  a  requi 
sition  on  my  own  stores,  the  present  necessity  was 
supplied. 

During  the  evening  some  soldiers  came  in,  who 
reported  that  the  wounded  cavalry-men  to  whom 
we  were  going  had  been  carried  into  City  Point. 
The  next  morning,  standing  on  the  piazza  in  the 
pleasant  spring  sunshine,  we  saw  the  head  of  a  col 
umn  of  cavalry  emerging  from  a  belt  of  woods  in 
the  distance.  It  was  Sheridan's  cavalry  corps  re 
turning  from  the  late  campaign.  We  watched 
them  as  they  passed  leisurely  along,  regiment  after 
regiment,  brigade  after  brigade,  division  after  divi 
sion.  War  was  behind  them.  Peace  and  home 
and  love  before.  At  length,  in  the  afternoon,  came 
the  ambulances,  and,  watching  for  a  friend  among 
the  officers,  we  obtained  the  use  of  one,  and  joined 
the  column  as  it  wound  its  slow  length  along.  Near 
Petersburg,  spreading  themselves  over  an  area  of 
five  or  six  miles,  on  the  same  hills,  and  near  the 
fortifications  lately  occupied  by  Lee's  army,  they 
encamped.  We  were  furnished  with  a  tent,  and 
soon  met  many  friends  who  had  happily  escaped 
the  perils  of  the  late  campaign. 


I4O  AFTER    THE    SURRENDER. 

It  was  wonderfully  picturesque,  this  cavalry  camp. 
The  little  white  tents,  arranged  in  regular  lines, 
covering  the  hills  near  and  far  away.  Horses  and 
mules  picketed  everywhere,  white  lines  of  army 
wagons,  soldiers  moving  to  and  fro,  parties  of 
horsemen  dashing  over  the  hills,  battle-flags  waving 
at  head-quarters,  all  under  the  bright  sunshine. 
Nor  were  peculiarities  of  sound  wanting.  At  night, 
lying  in  your  tent,  you  would  think  you  heard  a 
human  cry  of  distress.  It  was  repeated,  louder 
and  more  intense,  answered  here  and  there,  echoed 
along  in  the  same  lugubrious  strains,  until  corre 
sponding  kicks  made  you  aware  that  it  was  the 
indignant  protest  of  the  mules.  Then  came  the 
bugle  reveille  —  the  clear,  sweet  notes  breaking  the 
silence  of  early  morning,  the  strain  caught  up  and 
answered  from  hill  to  hill,  repeated  and  winding 
through  all  the  camp  from  head-quarters  to  farthest 
outpost.  Then  the  call  for  watering  horses,  and 
other  orders  throughout  the  day,  all  delivered  in 
bugle  strains,  until  "  taps "  issued  its  imperative 
"put  out  the  lights." 

It  was  suggested  to  me  by  one  of  the  surgeons, 
that,  after  the  hard  campaign,  the  men,  who  for 
a  long  time  had  tasted  nothing  but  their  army 
rations,  would  be  much  benefited  and  cheered 
by  some  small  gift  of  sanitary  luxury,  such  as  a 
can  of  peaches  or  tomatoes,  or  a  few  pickles 
to  each.  I  willingly  undertook  the  work  — 


AFTER    THE    SURRENDER.  14! 

going  to  City  Point  for  supplies,  taking  them 
around  from  camp  to  camp,  and  personally  distrib 
uting  to  each  man  some  small  gift  as  suggested. 
A  week  passed,  and  I  had  not  half  finished  the 
pleasant  work,  when  the  call  to  "  boots  and  sad 
dles"  rang  out  in  bugle-notes  through  the  camp, 
and  Sheridan  with  his  brave  cavalry  corps  turned 
their  faces  southward,  looking  for  Johnston.* 

On  the  breaking  up  of  the  camp,  I  went  to  City 
Point,  but  the  next  day  returned  to  Petersburg  and 
took  charge  of  the  special-diet  kitchen  in  the  Fair 
Grounds  Hospital,  by  invitation  of  Dr.  Blickhan,  of 
the  Twenty-eighth  Indiana  Regiment,  surgeon  in 
charge.  The  enclosure  of  the  fair  grounds,  just 
outside  the  city,  had  been  used  as  a  hospital  ever 
since  the  war  began.  Its  old-fashioned  buildings, 
to  which  had  been  added  several  barracks,  over 
shadowed  by  large  trees  —  the  grounds,  intersected 
with  nicely  gravelled  walks,  sloping  to  a  creek,  along 
which  was  a  race-course,  now  a  semicircular  row 
of  hospital  tents,  with  the  grove  beyond  —  made  a 
pretty  picture. 

*  A  few  weeks  later,  at  Petersburg,  I  was  aroused  in  the  early 
morning  by  the  silvery  notes  of  the  bugle  reveille  close  at  hand. 
What  could  it  mean  ?  There  was  no  cavalry  camp  near  the  night 
before,  but  there  must  be  one  now,  for  this  was  a  cavalry  call. 
Surprised  and  delighted  with  the  familiar  strain,  I  looked  out,  and 
almost  under  my  window,  on  a  little  wooded  hill,  were  head-quarter 
tents,  and  a  camp  spread  out  on  the  farther  slope.  It  was  a  por 
tion  of  Sherman's  army  on  its  way  home,  taking  its  turn  on  the  hills 
lately  occupied  by  Lee's  army. 


142  AFTER    THE    SURRENDER. 

When  the  hospital  with  the  town  fell  into  our 
hands,  it  was  pretty  well  filled  with  wounded  and 
worn-out  men  from  the  rebel  army.  Since  then  the 
armies  of  the  Potomac  and  James,  Sheridan's  cav 
alry  and  Sherman's  army  had  contributed  to  fill  it 
with  wounds,  fevers,  rheumatisms,  and,  if  not  all,  at 
least  a  great  proportion,  of  the  ills  which  flesh  is 
heir  to.  Here  I  remained,  looking  after  special  diet, 
and  rendering  such  service  as  I  could  until  the  ist 
of  July.  My  friend,  Dr.  Blickhan,  had  been  re 
lieved  —  his  place  had  been  filled  by  men  of  a  differ 
ent  stamp.  I  had  taken  lodgings  outside  the  hos 
pital,  and  was  still  looking  after  special  cases  in 
which  I  was  much  interested,  when  my  strength 
gave  out,  and  I  was  obliged,  with  great  regret,  to  re 
linquish  the  work,  and  leave  men  who  needed  the 
care  I  would  gladly  have  continued  to  give. 

The  labor  in  the  special-diet  kitchen,  and  much 
of  that  in  the  hospital  at  Petersburg,  was  performed 
by  the  blacks  just  emancipated  from  slavery.  I 
found  them  docile  and  lovable,  willing  to  work,  and 
many  of  them  intensely  eager  to  learn.  Every 
spare  moment  would  be  devoted  to  the  spelling- 
book,  or  mastering  some  of  the  scriptural  texts  that 
in  large  letters  adorned  the  rough  walls  and  posts 
of  the  kitchen.  After  the  labors  of  the  day  were 
over,  they  would  sit  with  delight  for  an  hour's  in 
struction  in  the  evening  —  seizing,  as  it  were,  with 
joy  the  key  of  knowledge  that  had  been  so  long 


AFTER    THE    SURRENDER.  143 

withheld.     That  they  appreciated  the  gift  of  free 
dom,  there  could  be  no  doubt. 

As  I  sat,  one  day,  in  the  neat  little  parlor  of 
"  Aunt  Susy's  "  tiny  white  cottage,  she  thus  related 
some  of  her  experiences.  "'Tis  a  great  blessing 
that  the  Lord  has  'stowed  on  our  people.  I  can't 
'spress  my  feelings  on  the  morning  of  the  'vacua- 
tion.  They  told  us  the  Yankees  were  coming  in, 
and  that  they  would  send  we  alls  to  Cuba,  and  har 
ness  us  to  carts  and  treat  us  like  brutes ;  and  all 
night  I  could  not  sleep  because  I  knew  they  were 
Vacuating  the  town.  Early  in  the  morning  I  heard 
a  great  shouting,  and  jumped  up  and  ran  out  with 
out  stopping  to  put  on  my  shoes.  My  husband 
was  at  the  lower  end  of  the  garden,  and  he  said : 
" '  Do  go  in  and  dress  yourself,  if  you  please.' 
"  By  the  time  I  got  back,  there  was  a  great  crowd 
of  people  all  over  the  hills,  shouting  and  waving ; 
and  presently  a  Union  officer  rode  by  very  near 
where  we  were  standing,  and  he  bowed  and  said, 
'  Good-morning ;'  and  we  all  bowed  low  and  said, 
'Good-morning;'  and  then  he  smiled  and  said, 
'  You  are  all  free  this  morning ! '  Then  we  all 
cried  and  praised  the  Lord,  and  it  seemed  as  if  a 
great  load  was  lifted  from  my  heart.  Mr.  S.,  one  of 
our  white  neighbors,  was  standing  near  us,  and  he 
said,  *  I  thank  God  that  I  live  to  see  the  sun  rise 
this  blessed  morning,  and  feel  myself  a  free  man, 
for  I  have  been  in  bondage  as  well  as  you.'  He 


144  AFTER    THE    SURRENDER. 

has  always  been  for  the  Union,  and  has  often  been 
obliged  to  go  away  from  home  to  keep  from  being 
shot.  And  there  was  poor  brother  H.  He  had 
been  waiting  on  the  sick  in  the  hospital  a  year,  and 
at  the  end  of  that  time  they  paid  him  a  hundred 
dollars  of  their  money,  which  was  n't  enough  to  buy 
a  bushel  and  a  half  of  meal."  * 

Aunt  Ellwood,  a  tall  yellow  woman,  with  straight 
black  hair  and  piercing  black  eyes,  whose  occa 
sional  slips  in  language  contrasted  quaintly  with 
her  general  correctness  and  fluency  of  speech, 
and  who  came  often  to  the  hospital  to  attend  to 
her  boy,  a  bright  little  octoroon  of  twelve  years, 
made  her  appeal  as  follows : 

"  I  had  a  nice  house,  honey,  before  you  alls  came 
into  Petersburg.  I  was  lawfully  married  to  my 
husband,  and  we  lived  together  twenty-five  years. 
He  was  a  stone-mason  by  trade,  and  a  hard-working 
man  ;  and  we  had  a  good  farm  and  house,  and  I 
never  asked  him  for  a  thing  that  he  did  n't  get  for 
me.  When  your  soldiers  came  in  and  saw  my 
house,  my  carpets,  my  secretary,  my  dishes,  my 

*  In  this  connection,  and  as  illustrating  the  destruction  and  de 
preciation  of  private  property  by  the  war,  I  will  add  a  fact  that 
came  to  my  knowledge  in  Petersburg.  Mr.  G;ll  bought  a  lot  of 
land  in  Petersburg  just  before  the  war,  for  which  he  paid  seventy- 
five  dollars  in  gold.  During  the  war  he  sold  it  for  one  hundred 
and  ten  dollars,  Confederate  money,  and  bought  a  bushel  of  meal  for 
one  hundred  dollars ;  hence,  his  bushel  of  meal  cost  him  nearly 
seventy-five  dollars  in  gold. 


AFTER    THE    SURRENDER.  145 

cows,  and  my  horse  and  wagon,  they  would  not 
believe  that  they  all  'longed  to  me  till  I  done  took 
my  papers  out  of  my  pocket  and  showed  them  my 
'ceipts.  Then  they  said,  '  Why,  mother,  a  great 
many  of  the  white  women  of  the  South  don't  keep 
their  houses  as  nice  as  you  do.'  When  the  army 
went  by,  I  went  out  and  said  to  the  captain,  '  Cap 
tain,  you  won't  burn  my  house,  will  you  ? '  and  he 
said,  '  Oh,  no,  mother ;  we  have  no  orders  for 
burning  to-day ;  we  are  after  the  Johnnies,  and  that 's 
all.'  Well,  madam,  in  two  hours  from  that  time  my 
house  was  in  ashes.  I  and  my  children  were  in  the 
field,  and  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  fired  by  a 
shell  or  by  some  of  the  soldiers,  but  when  we  came 
back,  it  was  burnt  to  the  ground.  Some  of  the 
soldiers  told  the  captain  about  it,  and  he  came  back 
to  see  me,  and  'pear'd  mighty  sorry.  He  said : 
'  Why,  mother,  I  found  you  in  a  house  this  morn 
ing,  and  I  can't  leave  you  and  your  children  in  the 
woods.'  So  he  took  me  to  a  large  house  that 
'longed  to  Mr.  Dabney.  He  had  gone  away,  and 
the  captain  gave  me  a  paper,  and  told  me  to  stay 
there  till  fall."  "  How  many  children  have  you 
Aunty  ?  "  "I  has  three  chillun  that  I  has  to  scuffle 
for,  honey,  and  three  that  can  scuffle  for  themselves. 
This  little  boy  that  you  sees  in  the  hospital  has 
been  a  hard-working  boy  ever  since  he  was  seven 
years  old.  He  has  been  my  chief  'pendence  ever 
since  his  father  died,  till  he  done  fell  from  a  tree  and 
13  K 


146  AFTER    THE    SURRENDER. 

broke  his  arm  so  bad,  that  the  doctor  had  to  cut  it 
off.  If  you  sees  anything  when  you  turns  round, 
honey,  that  you  can  spar  for  me,  you  won't  lose  any 
thing  from  fhe  good  Father.  I  tells  you,  madam, 
I'se  a  woman  that 's  born  of  the  Spirit,  and  He  tell 
me  I  shall  find  friends  now  and  then  as  I  goes 
along.  I  has  no  house,  no  moneys,  no  anything 
for  my  chillun,  but  I  keeps  'pending  on  the  Lord, 
and  that  is  all  my  'pendence.  I  know  He  takes  care 
of  me.  I  shall  have  moneys  by  and  by.  When 
the  day  of  my  death  comes,  that  will  be  my  riches 
day.  If  you  can  give  us  something  to  help  us  till 
after  next  winter  respires,  when  once  the  winter  has 
respired  we  can  scuffle  for  ourselves.' " 


CHAPTER   XL 

ALONG    THE   LINES. 

APRIL,  1866. 

ALL  through  February  and  March,  we  have  in 
Virginia,  contrasting  with  many  cold,  bluster 
ing  days,  some  delightfully  mild  and  spring-like. 
The  sun,  unobstructed  by  a  cloud,  pours  his  heating 
rays  upon  the  earth ;  the  atmosphere  is  balmy  with 
the  breath  of  pine  groves,  and  we  wonder  where 
winter  has  so  deftly  hidden  itself. 

On  such  days,  it  has  been  a  rare  treat  to  explore 
on  horseback  the  surrounding  country,  riding  over 
the  smooth,  sanded  roads,  along  the  lines  of  forti 
fication  with  which  the  earth  for  many  miles  around 
Petersburg  is  furrowed,  through  the  old  camps  of 
the  late  contending  armies,  into  the  forts  which  will 
hereafter  be  famous  in  song  and  story,  and  over 
battle-fields  which  have  so  often  shaken  at  the  tread 
of  armed  hosts  and  the  thunder  of  artillery. 

A  few  miles  east  of  Petersburg  is  Fort  Stedman, 
captured  from  the  rebels  on  the  i6th  of  June,  1864, 
and  known  until  late  in  the  war  as  Battery  No. 
Four.  It  is  on  our  inside  line,  built  in  a  pretty 
grove  on  high  ground,  and  from  the  parapet  com 
manding  a  near  view  of  the  outside  rebel  line,  which 

147 


148  ALONG    THE    LINES. 

here  approaches  ours,  nearer  than  at  any  other 
point.  Here,  early  on  the  morning  of  the  25th  of 
March,  1865,  sounded  the  reveille  of  the  spring 
campaign  for  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  by  the 
rebels  surprising  our  garrison,  carrying  the  fort  and 
a  part  of  the  line  to  the  right  and  left  of  it,  and 
turning  the  guns  of  the  fort  on  its  defenders.  But 
our  troops  soon  rallied  and,  after  a  short  contest, 
retook  the  fort,  and  drove  back  the  enemy  with  a 
heavy  loss  in  killed  and  wounded,  and  nineteen 
hundred  prisoners ;  our  loss  in  killed  being  sixty- 
eight,  three  hundred  and  thirty-seven  wounded,  and 
five  hundred  and  six  missing.  Some  of  the  little 
log-houses  occupied  by  the  soldiers  are  still  stand 
ing,  and  gabions  loosened  from  the  works  are  roll 
ing  about. 

Following  the  lines  southward  as  they  come 
around  the  city,  our  next  point  of  attraction  is  the 
crater,  on  the  rebel  line,  out  of  which,  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  3<Dth  of  July,  1 864,  was  blown  the  fort  stand 
ing  over  it.  The  distance  between  the  lines  at  this 
point  is  seventy  yards.  Our  men  commenced  tun 
nelling  in  rear  of  this  line,  so  that  the  length  of  the 
tunnel  was  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards.  Tracing 
its  course  from  the  crater,  we  look  down  into  its 
mouth,  still  open,  and  see  where  in  the  red  clay  the 
work  began,  which  went  on  in  silence  sixteen 
nights,  the  enemy  all  the  time  suspecting  something 
of  the  kind,  but  searching  in  vain  to  discover  it. 


ALONG    THE    LINES.  149 

In  one  place  they  dug  directly  over  it,  and  would 
have  struck  it  by  digging  three  feet  farther. 

At  length  the  morning  of  the  3Oth  came,  and  at 
a  distance  of  fifty  feet  below  the  surface  the  fatal 
fuse  accomplished  its  direful  mission,  and  the  works 
exploded,  blowing  up  the  fort,  and  shaking  the 
earth  for  miles  around.  Out  of  two  hundred  men 
in  quarters,  never  dreaming  of  the  volcano  beneath 
them,  two  only  escaped.  The  rebels  were  taken  by 
surprise  and  thrown  into  confusion.  Our  troops 
(mostly  colored)  came  up  and  threw  themselves 
into  the  breach,  but  were  not  supported  by  rein 
forcements  in  time  to  hold  the  advantage.  The 
enemy  soon  rallied,  a  terrible  carnage  ensued,  and 
resulted  in  our  men  being  driven  back  and  the  line 
retaken.  Twenty-five  hundred  of  assailants  and 
assailed  are  said  to  be  buried  in  the  bottom  of  the 
crater,  and  even  now  every  heavy  rain  washes  up 
human  bones.  The  grounds  around  are  neatly 
fenced,  a  small  refreshment  saloon,  where  are  sold 
relics  of  battles,  is  established  at  its  entrance,  and 
the  owner,  having  been  ruined  in  property  by  the 
war,  seeks  a  slight  indemnification  by  levying  a  tax 
of  a  quarter  per  head  on  each  visitor. 

Farther  along  on  the  rebel  line  is  Fort  Mahone, 
christened  Fort  Damnation  by  our  soldiers  in  re 
turn  for  the  compliment  of  the  rebels  in  calling 
their  own,  Fort  Sedgwick,  directly  opposite,  Fort 
Hell ;  and  next  to  Fort  Sedgwick  is  Fort  Davis, 
13* 


I5O  ALONG    THE    LINES. 

one  of  the  finest  on  our  line.  A  few  miles  further 
on  the  line  is  Fort  Wadsworth,  where  the  military 
railroad  intersects  the  Weldon  road,  and  two  miles 
further,  Forts  Fisher  and  Welsh,  where  the  line, 
having  run  westerly  for  several  miles,  makes  an 
angle  and  strikes  off  in  a  southerly  direction  to 
Hatcher's  Run.  This  is  our  inside  heavy  line,  on 
which,  as  on  the  outer  one,  equally  heavy,  are  many 
other  beautiful  forts,  but  those  above  mentioned  are 
the  most  noted.  They  all  present  the  same  general 
appearance,  the  works  being  in  a  good  state  of  pre 
servation;  and  we  notice  that  the  outside  defences 
of  ours  are  generally  abatis,  while  those  of  the 
rebels  are  chevaux-de-frise. 

Two  miles  from  the  Appomattox  River,  south 
west  from  Petersburg,  on  the  outside  rebel  line,  is 
Fort  Gregg,  where  the  enemy  made  their  last  stand 
on  the  2d  of  April,  1865,  and  fought  desperately, 
though  they  well  knew  that  all  was  lost.  Two 
hundred  and  fifty  picked  men  from  Lee's  army  had 
sworn  to  defend  it  to  the  bitter  end.  They  raised 
the  white  flag  in  token  of  surrender,  and  then 
placed  their  guns  in  range  of  the  column  of  Fed 
eral  troops  advancing  to  receive  it.  On  came  our 
brave  boys,  (General  Gibbon's  command,)  flushed 
with  victory,  and  ardent  to  plant  the  stars  and 
stripes  on  the  last  stronghold  of  rebellion;  but 
when  they  are  just  ready  to  mount  the  works,  a 
murderous  fire  opens  on  them,  and  the  ranks  go 


ALONG    THE    LINES.  I$I 

down  as  the  ripened  grain  falls  beneath  the  scythe 
of  the  mower.  On  thunders  the  artillery,  but  our 
men  charge  up  through  carnage  and  smoke.  They 
leap  the  ditch,  mount  the  works,  and  rush  into  the 
strife.  Then  was  terrible  killing.  Fighting  hand- 
to-hand  with  butt-ends  of  muskets,  until  the  fort 
was  heaped  with  the  dead.  A  rebel  chronicler 
states  that,  after  having  encouraged  their  men  to 
the  last,  Generals  Heth  and  Wilcox,  when  they  saw 
that  they  were  overwhelmed,  put  spurs  to  their 
horses,  galloped  out  of  the  sally-port,  and  fled  to 
wards  the  Appomattox. 

Just  at  this  sally-port,  turning  my  horse  that  I 
might  take  a  view  of  the  surroundings,  my  colored 
guide,  Missouri,  turned  up  a  human  skull  with  her 
walking-stick. 

"This,"  said  she,  "was  a  Union  soldier." 
"  How  do  you  know  he  was  a  Union  soldier?" 
"  Because  here  are  some  pieces  of  his  blue  coat." 
He  had  been  buried  in  his  blanket,  but  heavy 
rains  had  washed  away  the   shallow  covering  of 
earth,  and  the  skull  had  rolled  over  on  the  ground. 
Then  she  handed  me  a  minie-ball,  melted  and  bat 
tered  out  of  shape,  which  she  had  picked  up  close 
to  the  body.     Perhaps  it  was  the  very  missile  that 
had   carried  death  to  his  heart.     Within  sight  of 
this  fort,  on  the  same  line,  stands  the  house  of  my 
friend,  Mrs.  H.,  who  came  from  the  North,  and  set 
tled  here  a  few  years  before  the  war.    Her  husband 


152  ALONG    THE    LINES. 

was  conscripted  in  the  rebel  army,  and  she  left  alone 
in  the  care  of  her  children  nearly  all  the  time. 
Imagine  a  Union  woman  living  unprotected  on  a 
rebel  line  of  fortifications  !  On  the  morning  of  the 
2d  of  April,  she  saw  the  Sixth  Corps  come  sweep 
ing  over  the  hills  and  fields  that  lie  between  the  two 
lines,  break  through  the  works,  and  plant  the  Fed 
eral  flag  directly  in  the  rear  of  her  house.  They 
were  on  their  way  to  take  the  South  Side  railroad, 
which  they  struck  about  a  mile  from  the  house. 
Her  husband  was  then  at  home,  was  captured  by 
our  soldiers  and  held  a  prisoner  for  several  months. 
They  were  preparing  to  set  fire  to  the  house, 
when  a  Federal  officer  rode  up  and  drove  them 
away.  Shells  and  bullets  were  flying  thickly  over 
the  house,  and  the  soldiers  began  to  batter  down 
the  door.  In  vain  she  entreated  them  to  spare  the 
house,  protesting  that  they  were  from  the  North, 
and  loved  the  Union.  They  declared  that  a  Union 
woman  could  not  live  so  near  the  rebel  lines,  and 
would  have  treated  her  roughly,  had  not  another 
officer  come  to  her  rescue.  Laying  his  hand  upon 
her  head,  he  said,  "  My  dear  madam,  I  would  not 
have  a  hair  of  your  head  hurt  for  the  world;  but  go 
into  the  cellar,  and  stay  there  with  your  children 
until  the  shelling  is  over,  for  your  house  may  be 
riddled  with  balls ;  and  I  will  place  a  guard  around 
it."  The  house  was  perforated  in  many  places,  but 
escaped  better  than  that  of  her  neighbor,  Mrs.  C, 


ALONG    THE   LINES.  153 

also  a  Northerner,  which  being  half-way  between 
the  lines  was  completely  battered  down  with  shells, 
while  the  family  in  the  cellar  escaped  unhurt. 

Hatcher's  Run  was  the  scene  of  many  heavy 
battles,  and  it  was  near  the  anniversary  of  one  of 
those,  the  ^th  of  February,  that  we  rode  over  the 
fields  and  through  the  timber  where  it  occurred. 
There  is  little  now  to  mark  it  as  a  battle-field,  save 
here  and  there  tree-tops  cut  off  sharply,  branches 
lopped  and  hanging  down,  and  the  trunks  pierced 
with  shot  and  shell.  The  sun  shines  quietly  through 
the  solitude,  and  the  birds  sing  undisturbed  in  the 
branches.  How  different  from  the  scenes  of  con 
fusion  and  terror  of  a  year  ago,  when,  in  extending 
our  lines  to  this  place,  so  many  brave  men  on  both 
sides  bit  the  dust ! 

Riding  out  south-westerly  from  Petersburg  on  the 
Boydton  plank-road,  crossing  Hatcher's  Run  on  a 
rickety  old  bridge  at  Burgess's  mill,  and  taking  the 
White  Oak  road,  we  find  the  battle-field  of  Five 
Forks,  sixteen  miles  from  the  city. 

Here,  on  the  1st  of  April,  1865,  our  cavalry 
under  General  Sheridan,  and  infantry  under  General 
Warren,  'engaged  the  enemy  and,  after  a  heavy 
battle,  drove  him  from  his  intrenchments,  capturing 
all  his  artillery  and  between  five  and  six  thousand 
prisoners.  The  left  fork  of  the  road  leads  to  Din- 
widdie  Court-House,  down  which  Sheridan  and  his 
cavalry  advanced  to  the  attack. 


154  ALONG    THE    LINES. 

Here,  as  indeed  nearly  all  along  the  road  from 
Hatcher's  Run,  are  marks  of  fighting  on  the  trees, 
and  quantities  of  gun-stocks  and  sword-sheaths 
lying  around. 

But  on  none  of  the  battle-fields  around  Peters 
burg  had  there  been  more  hard  fighting  than  at 
Ream's  Station,  six  miles  south  of  the  city,  on  the 
Weldon  railroad.  A  small  church  near  the  station 
is  perforated  in  all  directions  with  shells,  canister, 
and  grape-shot,  and  the  trees  for  miles  around  bear 
marks  of  the  fiery  storms  that  have  beaten  against 
them,  cutting  so  many  of  them  to  the  heart.  All 
through  the  timber  are  found  the  usual  debris  of  battle, 
-  old  shoes  still  tied  with  their  leathern  thongs, 
fragments  of  clothing,  canteens  and  haversacks,  belts 
and  breast-plates  that  had  so  often  been  buckled 
over  hearts  throbbing  with  love  for  somebody. 

Just  in  sight  of  the  station,  and  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  it,  lying  under  a  large  tree,  was  a  com 
plete  skeleton,  marked  by  a  little  head-board  as 
that  of  a  sergeant  belonging  to  an  Arkansas  regi 
ment.  The  scanty  covering  of  earth  had  been 
washed  away  and  left  the  skeleton  entire.  Parts 
of  others  lie  around,  but  none  so  perfect  as  this. 

On  all  these  battle-fields,  mindful  of  the  anxiety 
of  friends  at  home  for  relics,  we  gathered  such  as 
we  could  bring  away  conveniently.  The  most  in 
teresting  were  grape  and  canister  shot,  slugs,  minie- 
balls,  and  pieces  of  shell  cut  from  the  trees  in  which 
they  had  been  imbedded. 


ALONG    THE    LINES.  155 

The  captain,  having  previously  armed  himself 
with  a  hatchet  for  that  purpose,  rode  up  to  the  trees, 
cut  away  the  chips,  and  loosened  up  the  ball,  then 
rode  out,  while  I  pressed  up  my  gray  as  closely  as 
possible  to  the  prize,  and  reaching  up  or  down,  as 
the  situation  might  require,  plucked  it  out  easily 
with  my  fingers.  "  Rare  fruit  our  trees  yield  us," 
I  exclaimed.  Little  did  I  think,  when  in  childhood 
it  was  my  delight  to  roam  the  woods  in  search  of 
berries,  and  to  pluck  from  the  bark  of  the  spruce 
its  gummy  treasure,  that  I  should  ever  gather  from 
the  trees  of  my  native  land  such  fruit  as  this ! 

But  we  must  not  linger  too  long  in  this  fascina 
ting  search,  for  already  the  sun  is  declining  to  the 
western  horizon.  His  slanting  rays  penetrate  the 
forest  avenues,  and  light  up  the  grim  features  of  the 
skeleton  under  the  tree  with  a  ghastly  smile.  They 
are  like  fire  in  the  windows  of  the  planter's  houses, 
and  tinge  the  yellow  fields  with  a  golden  hue.  Ad 
monished  by  the  closing  day,  we  turn  our  horses 
hastily  towards  home,  and  they,  catching  the  spirit 
of  our  intention,  bring  us  into  camp  "  at  double- 
quick." 


PART   II. 


WITH  THE  FREEDMEN, 

THE  winter  of  1865-6,  I  spent  at  Poplar  Springs, 
Va.  My  work  there  was  mainly  receiving 
from  various  charitable  societies  in  this  country  and 
England,  supplies  of  clothing,  and  distributing  them 
to  the  destitute  freed  people  in  the  encampment,  and 
in  the  country  around.  From  nine  to  ten  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  clothing  passed  through  my  hands 
to  the  freed  people  of  Virginia  during  the  winter, 
and  the  next  winter,  while  engaged  in  the  same 
work  at  Petersburg,  seven  thousand  dollars'  worth. 
The  following  letters,  written  with  a  view  to  keep 
in  activity  the  interest  of  friends  co-operating  in 
this  good  work,  have  already  been  in  print,  and  are 
here  subjoined  as  illustrating  some  of  the  fruits  of 
American  slavery  —  the  cause  of  all  our  woe  in  the 
late  civil  war  —  and  the  condition  of  the  colored 
race  during  the  early  days  of  emancipation. 
'4  157 


CHAPTER   I. 

MY  ANGELS. 

WHEN,  just  before  leaving  Boston,  I  said  to 
my  venerable  friend,  "  I  would  like  a  troop 
of  them  to  accompany  me,"  and  he  replied,  "They 
surely  will,"  I  did  not  think  his  prophecy  would  be 
so  nearly  verified. 

He,  being  a  firm  believer  in  the  theory  of  "  spirit 
ual  manifestations,"  which  has  so  many  advocates 
in  and  around  Boston  at  the  present  day,  had 
patiently  and  kindly  favored  me  with  many  tests  on 
which  he  relies  for  the  support  of  his  belief. 

I  took  the  ground  that  human  helpers  are  our 
true  angels.  That  when  one  comes  to  me  in  my 
want,  my  sorrow,  or  distress,  bearing  relief,  that  is 
my  angel.  For,  granting  there  are  spiritual  beings 
around  me,  witnesses  of  my  anguish,  they,  not  being 
endowed  with  physical  forms  and  members,  cannot 
furnish  me  with  material  aid,  which  is  what  I  need. 

Often  and  often,  when  I  have  looked  around  on 
the  ghastly  relics  of  the  battle-field,  and  heard  from 
every  quarter  cries  for  help !  help !  help !  have  I 
wondered  if  there  were  indeed  pitying  angels  who 
beheld  the  sight,  and,  if  so,  must  they  not  long  for 
human  hands  and  human  feet,  that  they  might  run 

158 


MY    ANGELS.  159 

quickly  with  relief.  And  then  with  their  superior 
wisdom  and  skill,  how  efficient  would  be  their  aid — 
for,  slow  and  inadequate  as  was  the  relief  we  could 
bring  with  human  hands,  it  was  often  received  as  a 
heavenly  ministration.  Some  such  shadowy  idea 
as  this  was  doubtless  flitting  through  the  brain  of 
Lieutenant  S.,  when,  one  day,  after  weeks  of  uncon 
scious  illness  in  the  hospital,  during  which  he  had 
taken  no  nourishment  save  what  I  had  persuaded 
him  to  receive  from  my  hand,  he  looked  up  with 
the  light  of  returning  reason  in  his  large  blue  eyes, 
exclaiming,  "  You,  you,  are  my  ministering  angel !" 

With  such  words  I  strove  to  maintain  my  side  of 
the  argument,  while  my  friend  insisted  that  spirit 
ual  beings  are  really  present  in  our  time  of  need, 
and  aid  us  by  influencing  our  fellow-mortals  to  ad 
minister  succor.  "  And  they  will  surely  go  with 
you,"  he  said ;  "  they  will  follow  you,  though  you 
will  not  see  them." 

There  was  need  enough,  I  thought,  for  the  con 
templated  journey  offered  nothing  inviting  to  my 
anticipations.  I  was  leaving  behind  me  all  that  I 
held  pleasant  in  social  life.  My  own  home,  it  was 
true,  stood  desolate  and  uninviting,  with  no  tear  for 
my  departure,  and  no  smile  to  welcome  my  return ; 
but  many  other  homes,  "  Homes  not  alien,  though 
not  mine,"  still  warm  and  bright  with  the  light  of 
hope  and  love,  stood  open  to  me,  and  it  was  some 
thing  to  turn  away  from  all  these.  My  journey 


160  MY    ANGELS. 

would  lead  me  among  strangers  and  away  from  any 
human  protection  to  which  I  might  lay  claim.  The 
rushing  rail-car,  the  creaking,  flying  steamboat 
would  bear  me  swiftly  to  scenes  where  all  was 
strange  and  terrible  to  my  apprehension.  And  if 
invisible  spirits,  full  of  love  and  sympathy,  are  with 
me  on  the  way,  what  can  they  do  for  me  ?  I  am 
"of  the  earth,  earthy,"  my  human  want  requires 
human  help.  They  have  no  voice  with  which  to 
speak  to  the  ear  words  of  consolation  — no  hands 
to  shield  me  from  danger  —  no  arm  on  which  I  may 
lean,  or  feet  to  walk  by  my  side  through  the 
crowded  thoroughfares.  Surely,  if  my  pockets  are 
picked,  or  if  I  am  subjected  to  the  annoyances  of 
rude  or  wicked  men,  or  if  by  collision,  or  other  ac 
cident,  I  feel  my  limbs  being  crushed  beneath  fall 
ing  timbers,  it  would  be  slight  relief  to  hope  that 
heavenly  beings  are  looking  on  with  pitying  eyes. 

It  was  from  such  a  reverie,  just  as  the  evening 
train  was  about  to  leave  the  crowded  depot  in  Bos 
ton,  that  a  pleasant  voice  interrupted  me,  and  a 
strange  gentleman  asked  permission  to  take  the 
vacant  seat  by  my  side!  There  was  nothing  pecu 
liar  in  this,  neither  was  there  anything  peculiar  in 
the  man.  He  was  going  from  Boston  to  New  York, 
on  some  errand  of  business,  and  preferred  to  while 
away  the  hours  by  chatting  on  the  ordinary  topics 
of  the  day,  rather  than  to  spend  them  in  the  smok 
ing-car,  or  doze  them  away  in  solitude.  To  divert 


MY    ANGELS.  l6l 

me  from  my  gloomy  thoughts  during  the  evening 
ride,  to  secure  my  state-room  on  the  boat,  to  escort 
me  thither,  carrying  my  travelling-bag,  and  to  bid 
me  good-night  with  complimentary  wishes,  cost 
him  little  effort,  but  it  was  much  to  me.  I  know 
not  his  name,  whether  he  was  a  good  or  bad  man ; 
but  if  he  had  been  an  angel,  commissioned  espe 
cially  to  care  for  me  during  that  stage  of  the  jour 
ney,  I  do  not  know  that  he  could  have  done  more. 

The  night  passed  quietly  on  the  Sound,  and  the 
early  dawn  brought  us  safely  to  the  dock  in  New 
York.  Here  my  angel  took  the  form  of  a  good- 
natured  hack  driver,  conducting  me  safely  to  my 
destination,  and  when  there,  he  spoke  through  the 
voices  of  friends  and  little  children  bidding  me  a 
joyful  welcome. 

I  had  purposed  to  spend  only  a  few  days  in  New 
York,  thinking  that  my  work  was  ready  for  me  at 
my  journey's  end,  but  my  angel  knew  better.  The 
scene  of  my  winter's  work  was  not  yet  prepared  for 
me,  and  not  one  day  too  soon  or  too  late  would  he 
allow  me  to  proceed  on  my  journey ;  so,  with  va 
rious  pretexts,  through  the  kindly  persuasions  of 
friends,  he  prolonged  my  stay,  until  every  arrange 
ment  was  made  by  persons  who  did  not  then  know 
of  my  existence,  and  then  said  go  so  unmistakably, 
that  nothing  could  delay  me  another  hour.  Again 
my  weak  faith  faltered,  when  I  found  myself  on  the 
evening  train  from  New  York  to  Baltimore,  where 
14*  L 


l62  MY    ANGELS. 

I  was  to  arrive  at  midnight.  My  companion,  this 
time,  was  more  helpless  than  myself,  being  a  poor 
German  woman,  who  could  neither  speak  nor  under 
stand  a  word  of  English ;  could  signify  her  destina 
tion  only  by  an  address  on  the  back  of  an  envelope  ; 
and  my  few  words  of  sympathy  and  assistance 
brought  the  tears  streaming  from  her  eyes. 

But  no  sooner  had  the  cars  arrived  in  Baltimore, 
than  my  angel  appeared  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand, 
his  pockets  well  filled  with  business-looking  docu 
ments,  a  slouched  hat,  and  pleasant  voice.  He  took 
me  in  charge,  escorted  me  through  the  crowd  and 
the  darkness,  and  did  not  leave  my  side  until  he 
had  placed .  me  in  a  carriage,  and  given  the  driver 
strict  injunctions  to  land  me  safely  at  the  Eutaw 
House. 

The  next  day  was  spent  in  Baltimore,  where  an 
gelic  forms  and  voices  were  constantly  near  me, 
with  words  of  affection,  and  every  helpful  service 
that  I  needed,  and  left  me  only  when  I  was  safely 
embarked  on  the  steamboat,  bound  for  City  Point. 
Another  night  on  the  water  was  safely  passed ; 
the  full  moon  lent  its  pleasant  light,  the  waters 
were  tranquil  as  a  "  summer's  sea,"  and  sleep,  un 
disturbed  as  in  the  seclusion  of  home,  came  with 
its  refreshing  influences  to  my  wearied  body. 

The  morning  came,  and  we  saw  the  sun  rise 
gloriously  over  Fortress  Monroe.  Its  beams  spar 
kled  from  the  dancing  waters  around  that  wonder- 


MY    ANGELS.  163 

ful  piece  of  masonry,  the  "Rip- Raps;"  revealed 
the  rows  of  big,  black  guns,  with  their  ominous 
mouths  pointing  towards  us,  and  gilded  the  "  stars 
and  stripes"  floating  over  the  "  strong  tower"  oc 
cupied  by  the  arch-traitor  Davis. 

Then  came  on  the  beautiful  Indian  summer  day, 
and  through  its  warm,  bright  atmosphere  we  steam 
up  the  James,  past  the  long,  low  stretch  of  New 
port  News ;  past  Yorktown,  where  are  seen  in  a  little 
coppice,  close  to  the  water's  edge,  the  remains  of 
the  dark  brick  church  (only  a  wall  with  a  pretty 
arch  in  it)  in  which  Pocahontas  was  baptized ;  past 
Wilson's  Landing;  past  the  Carter  estate,  its  brick 
houses  still  imposing,  though  built  in  the  year  of 
our  Lord  1670;  past  Harrison's  Landing ;  and  now 
we  come  safely  to  City  Point. 

During  all  this  time  my  angel  has  been  near  me 
in  the  character  of  the  captain  of  the  boat,  whom 
I  have  recognized  as  an  old  acquaintance,  and  who 
makes  all  safe  and  comfortable  for  me  until  I  find 
myself  in  the  train  for  our  short  railroad  ride  to 
Petersburg. 

Thus  the  journey,  which  I  anticipated  only  with 
gloomy  foreboding,  turns  out  something  very  much 
like  a  pleasure  excursion,  through  the  human  angels 
who  attend  my  way. 

For  how  much  of  their  kindness  I  am  indebted 
to  the  influence  of  supernatural  beings,  is  not  for 
me  to  say.  It  would  be  pleasant,  indeed,  to  believe 


164  MY    ANGELS. 

that,  when  following  a  kindly  impulse  towards  our 
fellows,  we  are  yielding  ourselves  to  the  guidance 
of  some  of  that  celestial  host  who  by 

"  Thousands  at  His  bidding  speed, 
And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest," 

and  who  through  our  hands,  our  feet,  our  tongues, 
accomplish  their  heavenly  ministrations. 

Oh,  ye  young  and  brave,  to  whom  the  grass 
hopper  is  not  yet  a  burden,  and  no  fear  is  in  the 
way,  befriend  the  timid  and  unprotected.  Lend  the 
help  of  your  good  right  arm  and  your  strong  hand 
to  the  lonely  stranger  whom  you  meet  in  the  rail- 
car,  the  crowded  station,  or  the  steamboat. 

So  for  the  time  shall  you  be  to  her  as  the  ANGEL 
OF  GOD. 


CHAPTER   II. 

POPLAR  SPRINGS. 

ENCAMPMENT  OF  FREED  PEOPLE,       \ 
POPLAR  SPRINGS,  VA.,  December  4,  1865.  J 

IN  the  winter  of  1864-5  the  Fiftieth  New  York 
Engineer  Regiment,  belonging  to  the  Sixth 
Corps,  was  encamped  near  Poplar  Springs,  about 
four  miles  from  Petersburg.  Here  they  constructed 
a  camp  not  surpassed  in  beauty  and  convenience 
by  any  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 

In  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  pine  grove  they  cleared 
a  spot  of  from  one  to  two  acres  for  the  head-quarters' 
houses.  This  space  was  levelled,  beaten,  and  sanded, 
until  it  became  hard  and  smooth  as  a  house-floor. 
At  the  head  of  this  space,  and  overlooking  the  en 
campment,  was  a  row  of  houses  for  the  Colonel  and 
his  staff-officers,  and  opposite  them,  across  the  level 
area,  another  row  for  the  line  officers.  At  right 
angles  to  these,  running  out  into  the  pine  grove, 
and  parallel  to  each  other,  were  the  streets,  on  each 
side  of  which  were  the  neat  little  log-cabins  of  the 
private  soldiers.  They  were  laid  out  with  perfect 
regularity,  and  brought  by  skilful  labor  to  the  same 
degree  of  smoothness  and  hardness  as  the  open 
space  above.  The  officers'  quarters  were  all  of  the 

165 


l66  POPLAR    SPRINGS. 

stockade  order,  the  pine  logs  being  split,  and  placed 
on  the  inside,  so  that,  when  cemented  by  the  natu 
ral  mortar  of  the  country,  they  give  the  deep  brown 
color  of  the  bark,  externally,  while  within  the  walls 
are  of  a  clear,  light  yellow.  The  fronts  were 
finished  off  with  pines,  of  about  two  inches  in  diam 
eter,  split,  laid  closely  together,  and  nailed  on  the 
flat  surface,  covering  the  cement,  and  giving  a  plain 
brown  color  to  the  whole. 

But  the  chief  object  of  attraction  is  the  church, 
standing  at  one  end  of  the  open  area,  and  fronting 
inwardly;  built  in  the  form  of  the  heavy  cross, 
which  was  the  badge  of  the  Sixth  Corps ;  of  the 
same  general  structure  as  the  houses ;  its  front,  and 
arched  doorway  and  windows,  ornamented  with  the 
same  exquisite  work  of  slender  pines,  in  their 
native  brown ;  its  belfry  bearing  the  beautiful 
badge  of  the  Engineer  Corps  ;  its  graceful  spire, 
outreaching  by  twice  their  height  the  tallest  of 
the  surrounding  pines,  —  it  produces  the  effect  of  a 
pretty  little  antique  Gothic. 

They  had  scarcely  brought  their  camp  to  the  per 
fection  at  which  they  aimed,  when,  with  the  news  of 
Lee's  surrender,  came  the  order  for  the  regiment  to 
move,  and,  pleasant  as  was  the  prospect  of  peace 
and  home,  they  left  the  scene  of  their  pleasant 
labors  with  many  a  fond  regret. 

To  them  succeeded  a  part  of  the  Second  Penn 
sylvania  Heavy  Artillery,  who  occupied  the  camp 


POPLAR    SPRINGS.  l6/ 

a  part  of  the  summer,  leaving,  when  they  moved,  a 
detail  of  men  to  guard  the  buildings  until  the  camp 
and  its  environs,  including  several  square  miles, 
were  taken  possession  of  by  the  Freedmen's  Bureau. 
Here  are  now  collected  five  or  six  hundred  of  the 
colored  people,  just  escaped  from  the  "  barbarism 
of  slavery,"  who  being,  as  one  may  say,  in  the  in 
fancy  of  manhood,  the  Government,  like  a  "  cher 
ishing  mother,"  is  holding  by  the  hand  until  they 
shall  be  able  to  go  alone. 

The  representatives  of  the  Freedmen's  Bureau  in 
this  department  are  doing  for  them  all  that  they  can ; 
the  National  Freedman's  Relief  Association  is  do 
ing  all  it  can ;  friends  in  England  have  done  much 
by  sending  quantities  of  stout  under-garments  ;  and 
yet,  such  is  their  destitution  and  suffering,  that 
I  doubt  if  to  most  of  these  poor  humans,  whose 
"  masters  were  worser  to  them  after  the  war  began, 
and  so  they  done  runned  away,"  the  exchange  is 
not  a  leap  "  from  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire."  They 
are,  in  general,  willing  to  work,  but  the  old  slavoc- 
racy  will  not  employ  them  if  it  can  possibly  do 
without,  and  they  have  a  horror  of  going  North. 
Still,  of  the  five  or  six  hundred  collected  in  and 
about  this  encampment,  only  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  draw  Government  rations,  the  remainder 
contriving  in  some  way  to  subsist  themselves. 

"  Did  you  have  a  good  master  in  North  Caro 
lina?"  I  asked  of  a  carpenter  who  was  making 


l68  POPLAR    SPRINGS. 

some  repairs  on  my  quarters.  "Yes,  madam;  as 
the  general  run  of  them  goes  in  that  country,  I 
can't  say  but  I  did."  "  Would  you  not  have  done 
better  to  stay  with  him  ?  "  "  Oh,  no,  indeed,  madam. 
I  'm  bound  to  believe  I  can  do  better  to  have  my 
own  labor.  To  earn  a  hundred  dollars  for  another 
man,  and  not  get  a  hundred  cents  for  yourself,  is 
poor  business." 

Walking  around  their  quarters,  and  looking  into 
their  little  huts,  one  sees  pitiable  signs  of  destitution 
and  suffering,  but  hears  no  desire  to  return  to  the 
old  masters. 

"  That,"  said  a  bright,  young,  yellow  woman  to 
me,  to-day,  pointing  to  a  very  black,  coarse-looking 
one,  "  is  the  woman  that  done  set  my  house  afire 
and  burnt  up  my  little  baby." 

"  Set  your  house  afire!  what  did  she  do  that  for?" 

"  Well,  mistus,  in  de  fus  place,  she  done  stole 
some  meat  what  'longs  to  me;  then  she  stole  some 
clo's  what  'longs  to  me ;  and  I  tole  her  of  it,  and 
she  quarrelled  with  me  about  it,  and  said  she  'd  be 
'venged  on  me ;  and  so,  one  day,  while  I  was  gone 
to  the  spring  to  get  some  water,  she  done  took  a 
great  coal  of  fire  and  put  it  into  my  bunk,  and  the 
wood  and  straw  was  so  dry  that  it  blazed  right  up, 
and  when  I  got  back,  the  roof  was  all  burnt  in  and 
my  little  baby  was  burnt  to  death.  I  put  my  hand 
into  the  fire  to  pull  her  out,  and  that 's  what  makes 
it  so  lame  now." 


POPLAR    SPRINGS.  169 

9 "  How  do  you  know  that  this  woman  set  your 
house  on  fire  ?" 

"Because,  mistus,  there  was  nobody  else  near 
but  her  and  her  boy ;  and  he  stands  to  it  that  he 
saw  her  put  the  fire  into  my  bunk." 

"  How  old  was  your  baby  ?" 

"  Going  on  two  months,  mistus;  and  I  feels  right 
sorry  about  it,  for  it  was  a  mighty  handsome  little 
baby ;  everybody  took  a  fancy  to  her,  and  said  she 
was  the  nicest  baby  in  camp.  I  'se  used  to  work 
all  my  life,  and  I  loves  to  work,  and  I  scuffled  hard 
for  the  things  what  she  stole  from  me,  and  I  allers 
keeps  my  chillun  looking  nice ;  the  Captain  praises 
me  mightily.  Now  I  'se  lost  everything ;  but  I 
would  n't  mind,  if  she  had  n't  burnt  up  my  little 
baby." 

This  is  a  dark  picture,  but  we  must  remember 
that  slavery  is  degrading,  and  that  degradation 
means  sin  and  crime. 

"  I  'se  had  twelve  chillun,"  said  a  poor  woman, 
"  sitting  by  her  lone,"  "  and  they  'se  all  sold  away 
from  me,  down  to  New  Orleans.  I  don't  know 
what  has  become  of  one  of  'em.  It  hurts  me 
mightily  to  think  of  'em." 

Looking  around  the  walls  of  her  hut,  at  the  vari 
ety  of  "  old  traps  "  she  had  brought  with  her,  I  saw 
a  pair  of  cards,  such  as  in  old  times  used  to  accom 
pany  the  spinning-wheel 
15 


I7O  POPLAR    SPRINGS. 

"And  so  you  brought  your  cards  along,  aunty; 
did  you  think  you  would  find  cotton  here?" 

"  Oh,  no,  honey.  I  fetched  'em  from  Car'lina  for 
my  ha'r.  They  is  what  we  combs  our  ha'r  with." 

"  How  old  are  you,  aunty  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  'zactly,  honey ;  but  I  knows  I  'se 
mighty  old." 

In  the  spacious  building  erected  for  the  Colonel's 
quarters,  a  school  is  just  established  under  the  aus 
pices  of  the  New  York  National  Freedman's  Relief 
Association,  where  more  than  a  hundred  of  all  ages 
congregate  daily,  earger  to  obtain  that  dangerous 
thing,  especially  in  the  eyes  of  their  worser  masters, 
"a  little  learning."  Last  evening,  hearing  the 
sounds  of  a  prayer-meeting  in  the  school-room,  I 
walked  across  the  open  area  to  the  place.  The 
grounds  were  white  under  the  light  of  the  full 
moon.  The  pretty  church,  with  its  heavenward- 
pointing  spire,  stood  clearly  revealed  on  my  right. 
The  encircling  pine  grove,  moved  by  a  gentle  south 
wind,  murmured  its  unceasing  music.  As  I  stepped 
across  the  threshold  of  the  arched  doorway,  I  saw 
that  the  room  was  crowded,  so  that  I  could  with 
difficulty  obtain  a  standing  place  within.  They 
were  engaged  in  singing,  the  audience,  all  around 
the  sides  of  the  room,  standing,  accompanying  the 
music  with  a  swaying  motion  of  the  body  like  a 
dancing  measure,  while  the  centre  was  occupied  by 
mourners  kneeling  on  the  floor  so  near  to  each 


POPLAR    SPRINGS.  I/I 

other,  and  their  heads  bowed  so  low,  that  they 
formed  a  complete  mosaic  of  old  hoods,  turbans, 
Shaker  bonnets,  and  the  light  calico  rags  in  which 
they  are  clothed;  for  these  poor  creatures,  in  coming 
up  out  of  the  house  of  bondage,  unlike  their  Egyp 
tian  prototypes,  brought  no  "  spoils  of  silver,  or 
gold,  or  raiment." 

Their  music  was  a  jargon  of  unearthly  sounds,  in 
which  the  words,  "  lined  out  "  by  the  leader,  seemed 
of  little  account.  Sometimes  you  catch  a  few  lines, 
such  as  — 

"  My  soul  was  grieved  and  full  of  woe, 
Alas !  I  know  no  where  to  go." 

"  He  lead  me  to  Mount  Cal-va-ree, 
And  showed  how  good  he  was  to  me." 

"  His  temple  locks  all  stained  with  blood. 
And  every  minit  was  one  hour." 

Sometimes  it  would  change  to  a  livelier  measure, 
as  — 

"  I  thank  God  I  'm  bound  to  die, 

Glory,  Hallelujah ! 
O  sinners,  min'  how  you  step  on  the  cross, 

Glory,  Hallelujah  ! 

O  Chrishuns,  min'  how  you  walk  on  the  cross, 
Glory,  Hallelujah!" 

Continued,  with  many  repetitions,  half  an  hour, 
then  there  was  a  vehement  exhortation  to  the 
mourners  to  surrender  their  hearts  immediately,  a 


POPLAR    SPRINGS 

reproof  to  any  who  might  be  tired  of  kneeling,  re 
minding  them  at  the  same  time  that  "  allers  when 
the  Lord  build  a  church,  the  devil  build  a  chapel 
close  by." 

Then  Sister  Nancy  Brooks  was  called  on  to  pray, 
and  her  desires  were  expressed  after  this  manner : 
"  O  Father  Almighty,  O  sweet  Jesus,  most  gloriful 
King,  will  you  be  so  pleased  to  come  dis  way,  and 
put  your  eye  on  dese  yere  poor  mourners.  O  sweet 
Jesus,  ain't  you  de  Daniel  God  ?  Did  n't  you  de- 
liber  the  tree  chillun  from  de  firy  furnis  ?  Did  n't 
you  hear  Jonah  cry  from  de  belly  of  de  whale? 
Oh,  if  dere  be  one  seeking  mourner  here  dis  after 
noon,  if  dere  be  one  sinking  Peter,  if  dere  be  one 
weeping  Mary,  if  dere  be  one  doubting  Thomas, 
won't  you  be  so  pleased  to  come  and  deliber  them? 
Won't  you  mount  your  Gospel  horse  an'  ride  roun' 
de  souls  of  dese  yere  mourners,  and  say,  'Go  in 
peace,  and  sin  no  more.'  Won't  you  be  so  pleased 
to  come  wid  de  love  in  one  hand,  and  de  fan  in  de 
odder  han',  to  fan  away  doubts  ?  Won't  you  be  so 
pleased  to  shake  dese  yere  souls  over  hell,  and  not 
let  'em  fall  in?" 

But  of  all  indescribable  things,  nothing  is  more 
so  than  a  religious  meeting  of  these  freed  people, 
for,  although  a  few  words  may  be  caught  up  and 
remembered,  their  peculiar  turn  of  expression  and 
utterance,  their  cries  and  groans  and  vehement 
gesticulations,  forming  a  wonderful  combination  of 


POPLAR    SPRINGS.  1/3 

the  solemn  and  grotesque,  can  never  be  reduced  to 
language.  The  excitement  increases  to  the  end, 
when  some  of  the  mourners  are,  at  times,  so  ex 
hausted  by  the  strength  of  their  emotions  that  they 
must  be  assisted  to  their  huts,  where  they  spend 
a  great  part  of  the  night  in  alternate  sobs  and 
praise,  and  the  next  day  are  "  monstrous  bad,  with 
misery  in  the  back  and  head." 

Yet  this  is  their  worship.  Their  meetings  are 
conducted  with  the  greatest  solemnity  and  sincer 
ity;  they  constitute  their  "religious  privileges,"  and 
with  such  spiritual  help  many  are  daily  passing  into 
the  unseen  world. 


CHAPTER    III. 

DOMESTIC  RELATIONS   OF   THE  FREED  MEN. 

THE  domestic  relations  of  the  freedmen,  if  in 
deed  they  can  be  said  to  have  any,  are,  to  use 
one  of  their  own  expressions,  "  the  most  twistedest 
up"  affairs  conceivable.  This,  however,  is  one  of 
the  legitimate  fruits  of  slavery,  and  it  will  take 
many  generations  of  freedom  to  bring  them  out  of 
their  present  condition  of  chaos.  What  most  sur 
prises  one  in  this  connection  is,  that  families  having 
no  legal  bond  hang  together  as  well  as  they  do. 

"  My  husband  and  I  have  lived  together  fifteen 
years,"  says  the  mother  of  a  large  family  of  chil 
dren,  "  and  we  wants  to  be  married  over  again  now." 

"  I  have  lived  with  my  husband  twenty-one  years," 
says  another.  "  He  has  always  been  good  to  me, 
and  my  ways  have  pleased  him,  and  so  we  are  both 
satisfied."  "  She  is  my  fifth  wife,"  says  an  old 
man,  of  the  present  incumbent  of  his  bed  and 
board,  "  and  I  believe  I  could  live  with  her  any 
where." 

"  They  kept  my  husband  away  from  me  three 
years,"  says  Judy,  "  and  tried  to  make  me  marry 
another  man,  but  I  wouldn't  do  it.  They  couldn't 
make  me  love  anybody  but  Sam ;  of  course  they 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  1/5 

couldn't,  and  I  wouldn't  marry  anybody  else.  But 
if  my  master  found  him  on  his  grounds,  he'd  whip 
him;  and  if  his  master  knew  of  his  being  away 
from  home,  he  'd  whip  him ;  and  then  they  sold 
him  away,  and  I  could  n't  hear  where  he  was. 
After  he  had  been  gone  three  years,  I  was  sick,  and 
master  sent  me  to  the  doctor's  to  be  cured.  One 
night  I  heard  some  one  knocking  at  my  doe,  and  I 
called  out, '  Who 's  thar  ? '— '  Sam  ! '— '  Sam  who  ?  '— 
'You  would  n't  know  any  better  than  you  does  now, 
if  I  tol'  you.  I  want  to  find  the  way  to  Dr.  T.'s.'— 
*  You  is  at  Dr.  T.'s  now,  but  who  is  you  ?' — '  My  name 
is  Sam,  but  they  call  me  Sam  Beverly.'  (They  did 
call  him  Sam  Beverly,  because  he  'longed  to  Miss 
Harrit  Beverly.)  Then  I  got  out  of  bed,  and 
crawled  to  the  doe,  and  opened  it,  and  I  says,  '  Sam, 
is  this  you  ? '  and  he  caught  me  in  his  arms,  and 
says,  '  Judy,  is  this  you  ? '  and  I  was  so  glad,  and 
after  that  I  could  n't  get  well  fast  enough.  He  had 
been  sold  back  into  that  part  of  the  country,  and 
had  got  leave  to  come  up  to  the  doctor's  to  see  his 
wife.  Then  he  coaxed  his  master  to  buy  me ;  and 
we  have  lived  together  ever  since,  and  that  was 
eleven  years  ago.  My  owner  said  he  would  n't  sell 
me  if  I  was  well;  but  he  thought  I  was  going  to  die, 
and  sold  me  off  his  hands,  so  as  not  to  lose  me 
entirely." 

Yet,  among  many  remarkable  instances  of  family 
devotion  and  constancy,  we  must  not  be  surprised 
to  find  occasional  exceptions. 


176  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS 

"  Do  you  think,"  I  asked  of  a  sick  woman,  "that 
your  husband  will  ever  return  to  take  care  of  you 
and  his  little  children  ?  "  "  Do'  know,  missus;  men 
is  so  kind  o'  queer  like;  'pears  like  dar's  no  'pending 
on  'em  any  how." 

"  My  husband  done  lef  me  for  good,"  said  an 
other.  "  Tears  like  men  is  n't  studyin'  'bout  one 
woman  now  days,  dey 's  studyin'  'bout  two  or  three." 
These  uncharitable  remarks  were  doubtless  aimed 
only  at  persons  of  their  own  color,  and  intended  to 
have  no  wider  application. 

"  Why  in  the  world,"  I  asked  of  a  sensible  woman, 
who  was  calling  her  boy  "Jeff  Davis,"  across  the 
way,  "  did  you  give  that  name  to  your  child  ?"  "  I 
did  n't  want  to  call  him  so,  missus ;  but  ole  master 
named  him,  and  I  could  n't  help  it;  I  wanted  to  call 
him  Thomas."  "  You  had  better  change  it  now, 
and  not  compel  him  to  bear  that  name  through  life. 
He  will  be  ashamed  of  it  when  he  grows  up."  "  Yes, 
missus ;  I  think  I  '11  call  him  THOMAS  GRANT."  They 
invariably  give  their  names  Tom,  Billy,  Jack;  and 
when  interrogated  as  to  their  patronymics,  hesitate, 
as  if  trying  to  invent  a  name,  and  then  give  that  of 
their  former  owner,  or  the  town  or  county  from 
whence  they  come.  Or  they  will  answer,  "  My 
name  is  Peter,  but  my  title  is  Raleigh ;  "  or,  "  My 
name  is  Mary,  but  they  call  me  Branch."  It  is  not 
unusual  to  find  in  a  family  of  half  a  dozen  children, 
as  many  shades  of  color  and  as  many  different 
titles. 


OF    THE    FREEDMEN.  177 

Still  greater  is  the  uncertainty  as  to  age.  "  I  am 
seventeen  or  seventy,"  says  a  young  woman ;  and 
a  middle-aged  man  asks  for  something  for  his  old 
mother,  "  thirty  years  old."  The  dates  from  which 
they  reckon  are,  Christmas,  planting  time,  Fourth 
of  July,  and  corn  time  ;  and  the  unlucky  waif  who 
does  not  make  his  advent  at  one  of  these  epochs, 
must  date  from  that  nearest.  From  the  mixed 
character  of  his  domestic  relations  has  perhaps 
arisen  the  charge  that  the  negro  is  wanting  in  nat 
ural  affection. 

That  there  should  be  some  grounds  for  such  ac 
cusation  does  not  appear  strange,  when  we  con 
sider  that  to  the  slave  an  increase  of  children  is 
only  an  increase  of  gain  to  the  pocket  of  his  owner. 
The  child  born  under  bondage  belongs  neither  to 
father  nor  mother,  but  to  master.  The  parents  can 
not  even  select  a  name  for  it,  and  are  sure  of  pos 
sessing  it  only  during  the  first  month.  After  that 
their  only  parental  privilege  is  to  labor  at  odd 
moments  for  its  maintenance ;  and  at  any  day  it 
may  be  separated  from  them  forever  by  sale  or 
division  of  estate.  This,  they  say,  is  so  much 
worse  than  death,  "because,  when  your  child  dies, 
you  know  where  it  is ;  but  when  he  is  sold  away, 
you  never  know  what  may  happen  to  him." 

"  My  master  was  the  father  of  two  of  my  girls," 
says  a  freed- woman;  "and  when  they  were  both 
dead,  he  whipped  me  because  I  said  I  was  glad  of 

M 


178  DOMESTIC     RELATIONS 

it.  But  I  was  glad,  for  I  had  seen  them  suffer  with 
sickness,  and  I  knew  if  they  had  lived,  master  would 
sell  them  away  from  me  as  he  had  the  others,  but 
when  they  were  dead  he  could  not  mistreat  them, 
as  he  had  mistreated  me."  That  the  negro  is  ca 
pable  of  the  truest  and  most  devoted  affection,  and 
that  his  heart,  in  absence,  is  afflicted  with  the  same 
longing  for  kindred  as  the  heart  which  throbs  under 
a  white  skin,  is  attested  by  abundant  proof.  Wit 
ness  the  anxiety  of  mothers  peering  into  every 
strange  face,  to  see  if  they  can  discern  some  trace 
of  the  long-lost  child  ;  their  agonized  expressions, 
when  attempting  to  relate  the  horrible  tale  of  sepa 
ration  ;  old  men  begging  to  have  letters  written  to 
the  place  where  their  boys  were  last  heard  from ; 
children  undertaking  long  and  tiresome  journeys 
because  they  cannot  repress  the  yearning  to  see 
once  more  the  face  of  the  old  father  or  mother,  if 
peradventure  they  be  yet  alive. 

Looking  out  one  cold  day  in  January,  I  saw  an 
old  cart-body  with  a  mule  attached  to  it,  standing 
at  the  door  of  a  cabin,  whose  occupant  was  suffer 
ing  from  a  chronic  disease  that  had  disabled  her 
for  life.  On  inquiry,  I  found  that  her  sister  and 
brother-in-law  had  come  a  distance  of  seventy  miles, 
in  this  crazy  old  vehicle,  over  the  rough  winter 
roads,  to  take  her  and  her  two  little  children  home, 
so  that  the  family  might  all  be  near  to  their  aged 
mother.  They  had  "  made  corn  enough  to  last 


OF    THE    FREEDMEN. 

them  untwell  corn  time  again,"  and  had  no  doubt 
of  being  able  to  provide  for  all.  The  next  morn 
ing  was  cold  and  frosty,  but  they  started  ofT  at  an 
early  hour  on  the  journey  which  would  occupy  two 
or  three  days,  the  invalid  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the 
wagon,  the  younger  child  sitting  by  her  side,  while 
the  brother,  sister,  and  elder  child  walked.  Where, 
in  the  annals  of  our  own  race,  can  we  find  an  ex 
ample  of  more  affectionate  self-sacrifice?  Return 
ing  to  camp,  one  morning,  from  a  ride  of  a  few  miles 
in  the  country,  I  overtook  an  old  man  walking  in 
the  same  direction,  and,  entering  into  conversation 
with  him,  found  that  he  was  in  search  of  a  daughter 
who  had  been  separated  from  him  and  her  mother, 
when  an  infant  of  a  few  months,  by  division  of 
estate.  From  that  time  he  had  had  no  certain  news 
of  her,  though  he  had  all  the  time  reason  to  think 
that  she  was  not  far  away.  For  the*  last  three 
years  he  had  been  travelling  through  Nottoway, 
Dinwiddie,  Chesterfield,  and  Amelia  counties,  push 
ing  his  inquiries  wherever  his  limited  means  would 
allow,  but  he  had  obtained  no  clue  to  her  until  last 
night,  when  he  received  a  letter  telling  him  that 
she  was  at  Poplar  Grove  Encampment,  the  mother 
of  three  children.  I  inquired  her  name,  and  told 
him  that  I  knew  her  well,  and  would  lead  him  to 
her  house.  So  riding  up  to  the  little  cabin  under 
the  tall  trees,  I  called  her  out  and  presented  her  to 
her  father.  The  iron  yoke  of  servitude  has  made 


l8O  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS 

them  undemonstrative,  and  their  emotions  are  ex 
pressed  only  by  a  clasping  of  hands,  and  a  mute, 
inquiring  gaze  into  each  other's  faces.  Presently 
the  little  grand-daughter  walks  up,  a  pretty  quad 
roon  child  of  eight  or  nine  years,  with  glossy  black 
curls,  a  tin  vessel  of  water  poised  on  her  head. 
"  Lucy  Ann,  this  is  your  grandfather."  The  child, 
still  preserving  the  poise,  lays  her  hand  in  that  of 
the  old  man,  with  "howdy',  grandfather?"  He  im 
mediately  begins  to  talk  about  taking  them  home 
to  the  mother,  at  Nottoway,  and  in  a  few  days  they 
are  gone.  Instances  of  this  kind  are  constantly 
occurring,  where  the  magnetism  of  kinship,  as 
strong  in  the  black  man  as  in  the  white,  is  drawing 
together  and  reuniting  family  circles,  with  which 
slavery  has  made  such  fearful  havoc.  The  kind 
ness  of  the  colored  people  towards  orphans  and 
homeless  children  is  remarkable,  and  in  this  respect 
their  humanity  often  puts  to  shame  that  of  the 
whites.  Perhaps  the  sad  experience  of  their  race  in 
the  rending  of  domestic  ties,  and  the  sorrows  of  or 
phanage,  may  account  for  the  tenderness  with  which 
they  regard  these  unfortunates,  and  the  readiness  with 
which  they  place  them  among  their  own  children, 
and  divide  with  them  their  scanty  morsel.  Not 
long  since,  an  old  man  came  into  camp,  bringing  in 
his  arms  a  child  of  about  two  years  (having  walked 
with  her  twelve  miles),  which  he  said  he  found  a 


OF    THE    FREEDMEN.  l8l 

year  ago  last  Christmas,  in  one  of  the  owner's  out 
houses,  left  entirely  alone. 

He  had  kept  her  ever  since,  and  the  family  had 
grown  so  fond  of  her,  that  nothing  but  poverty 
compelled  him  now  to  part  with  her.  "  But  where 
are  her  father  and  mother?"  "As  to  her  father," 
he  said,  glancing  at  her  light  skin  and  smooth, 
auburn  hair,  "  he  would  n't  acknowledge  her  if  he 
could  be  found;  and  the  mother,  they  told  me,  was 
compelled  to  leave  the  place  by  barbarous  treat 
ment."  The  child  had  evidently  been  well  cared 
for,  and  when  the  old  man  set  her  down,  and  turned 
reluctantly  away,  she  cried  bitterly  at  being  left 
behind,  but  a  good  old  aunty  in  camp  immedi 
ately  adopted  her,  and  she  is  now  perfectly  happy 
with  her  new  "  mammy." 
16 


CHAPTER    IV. 

RELICS   OF  BARBARISM. 

JANUARY  8,  1866. 

LIVING  in  an  encampment  of  freed  people 
affords  one  a  rare  opportunity  of  observing 
the  general  effects  of  slavery.  Here  the  monster 
"  being  dead,  yet  speaketh,"  through  thousands  of 
prisoners  come  up  out  of  the  prison-house,  and  his 
ugly  apparition  stalks  in  broad  daylight,  revealed 
in  all  its  hideous  proportions. 

Here  are  seen  men  and  women,  literally  children 
of  a  hundred  years,  whose  intellects  have  been 
dwarfed  and  held  down  by  the  hard  hand  of  oppres 
sion;  and  here,  young  women,  comely  in  person, 
refined  in  feeling,  sensitive  in  nature,  bearing  on 
their  bodies  the  marks  of  the  master's  lash,  admin 
istered  by  his  own  hand,  and  he  at  once  their  father 
and  the  father  of  their  children.  As  I  walk  about 
the  encampment,  I  often  look  into  the  little  hut 
where  poor  old  Si  Gillis,  nearly  blind,  sits  before 
his  lonely  hearth,  holding  out  his  hands  to  the  fire, 
as  if  to  obtain  a  little  of  its  warmth  were  his  only 
remaining  earthly  consolation.  He  is  very  tall, 
though  now  bent  by  the  weight  of  years ;  his  fea- 

182 


RELICS    OF    BARBARISM.  183 

tures  are  regular,  and  he  must  once  have  had  a  noble 
physique. 

"  How  old  are  you,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Eighty-three  years  old,  madam." 

"  Were  you  a  free  man  before  the  war  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  madam.  I  Ve  been  a  slave,  a  dead  slave, 
all  my  life." 

"  Would  not  your  master  take  care  of  you  after 
you  had  served  him  so  long?" 

"  No,  madam ;  he  always  worked  me  hard,  and 
kept  me  hard,  and  at  last  he  died  himself.  If  he'd 
a'  lived,  he  'd  a'  made  me  knock  as  long  as  I  could 
a'  knocked,  and  then  he  'd  a'  shoved  me  off  with  a 
piece  of  bread,  only  enough  to  keep  me  from  starv 
ing — :just  as  he  did  my  brother,  who  was  a  hun 
dred  years  old  when  he  died,  and  had  been  a  slave 
all  his  life." 

"  Did  you  have  a  family,  uncle  ?" 

"Yes,  madam;  I  had  children, and  grand-children, 
and  great  grand-children,  but  they  were  all  sold 
away  from  me;  and  I  don't  know  where  one  of  them 
is  but  my  daughter  that  lives  in  Petersburg,  and 
she  's  a  cripple." 

So,  day  after  day,  the  old  man  sits  alone  in  the 
docility  of  second  childhood,  with  nothing  in  the 
past  but  his  slave  life,  and  in  the  present,  solitude 
and  poverty.  Yet  he  believes  in  God,  and  hopes  for 

"  Some  humble  heaven, 

Where  slaves  once  more  their  native  land  behold, 
No  fiends  torment,  no  Christians  thirst  for  gold." 


184  RELICS    OF    BARBARISM. 

"  It  is  some  comfort,"  he  says,  "  that  he  will  die 
a  free  man  ; "  and  when  I  take  to  his  cabin  a  slight 
gift  of  food  or  clothing,  his  "Thank  you,  madam, 
thank  you,  madam,  thank  you,  madam,"  follows  me 
as  far  as  I  can  hear  down  the  walk. 

Near  to  him  lives  old  Biddy  Williams. 

"  She  was  raised,"  she  says,  "  and  always  lived 
with  the  first  quality  of  white  folks."  She  passed 
through  several  generations  of  the  same  family, 
who  were  all  very  good  to  her,  but  they  died,  and 
she  is  left  penniless  and  alone.  Then  all  the  nice 
things  that  her  "  last  missus  "  gave  her  were  stolen 
from  her,  and  now  her  sole  dependence  is  on  the 
charity  of  strangers. 

Her  mother  was  brought  from  Africa  in  a  large 
slave-ship,  at  the  age  of  ten  years,  and  had  filled 
Biddy's  retentive  memory  with  many  tales  and  cus 
toms  of  that  happy  land  beyond  the  sea,  where 
they  had  plenty  of  corn  and  meat,  and  everything 
that  heart  "  could  wish  ; "  where  the  slave-men  that 
Biddy  used  to  see,  when  she  was  a  child,  in  Rich 
mond,  with  their  faces  tattooed,  were  the  highest 
quality  of  gentle  folks,  and  where,  when  young 
children  died,  they  were  buried  near  the  highway, 
and  every  one  that  passed  their  graves  for  a  twelve 
month  threw  on  them  a  green  twig  or  flower. 

"  I  was  born,  missus,  the  year  that  Gen.  Wash 
ington's  war  broke  up.  Which  was  first,  missus, 
Gen.  Washington's  war  or  Gen.  Braddock's?" 


RELICS    OF    BARBARISM.  185 

"Gen.  Braddock's." 

"  And  what  does  dey  all  call  dis  yere  last  war  ?  " 

"  The  war  of  the  Great  Rebellion." 

"  Well,  missus,  what  will  dey  call  the  nex'  war?" 

"  I  hope  we  will  not  have  another  war,  Biddy." 

"  Oh,  dear,  you  tink  so,  missus?  I  'se  mighty  glad, 
for  dey  all  told  me  dere  would  be  de  wussest  war 
ob  de  whole  dis  year." 

To-day,  in  the  midst  of  the  cold,  driving  rain, 
Biddy  knocks  at  the  door  of  my  log-cabin. 

"  Oh,  missus,  can  you  give  me  some  shoes  and 
stockings  ?  My  feet  is  so  cold,  and  I  has  nobody  to 
get  my  wood  and  rations,  and  I  'se  'bliged  to  go 
out  in  the  rain,  and  my  clo's  is  so  thin  dat  de  cold 
goes  all  through  my  body." 

"  Come  in,  and  stand  by  my  fire,  Biddy,  and  I 
will  see  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

Looking  among  the  remnants  of  the  last  box  I 
received  from  kind  friends  at  the  North,  filled  with 
gifts  for  these  poor  outcasts,  I  find  shoes,  stockings, 
warm  underclothing,  and  a  hood,  with  which  I  tell 
Biddy  to  go  home,  and  make  herself  comfortable 
as  speedily  as  possible. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  missus,  thank  you,  dear  missus. 
God  bless  you  ;  you  certainly  has  holp  me  mightily. 
When  is  you  g'wine  away  from  yere,  missus  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Biddy.     Not  very  soon,  I  hope." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  you  go  and  leave  us,  missus  ; 
you  is  our  missus  and  mammy  too." 
16* 


186  RELICS    OF    BARBARISM. 

"  I  lacks  nine  years  of  being  a  hundred,  missus," 
says  Violet  Hastings,  who  still  stands  erect,  and 
has  a  pleasant  countenance,  though  very  black ; 
"  and,  O  missus,  I  'se  been  de  hardest  working  old 
nigger  ever  you  see.  None  of  your  mean  niggers, 
either,  dat  you  has  to  keep  a  beating  all  de  time. 
When  you  tells  me  what  you  wants  done,  you  may 
go  'way,  and  when  you  comes  back  you  finds  it  all 
done — des  so;  and  den  when  I  'd  worked  so  hard 
for  'em  all,  missus,  to  have  'em  turn  me  off  without 
a  piece  of  bread,  or  a  rag  of  clo's  —  dat  grieves  me 
to  de  heart.  Col.  Kit  Haskins  is  de  youngest  of 
my  set  o'  white  folks,  and  he  's  a  gran'  daddy,  and 
he  said  he  could  n't  keep  me  to  sit  down  and  do 
nothing,  and  I  might  go  and  get  the  Yankees  to 
take  care  of  me ;  so  he  drove  me  off.  I  used  to  be 
somebody,  but  I  'se  come  down  mighty  low  now.  I 
often  prays  de  Lord  to  let  me  die,  but  he  does  n't 
hear  dat  prayer  —  he  don't  mind  my  humors." 

"  How  many  children  have  you  had,  Violet?" 

"  Seventeen,  missus." 

"  And  how  many  husbands  ?  " 

"  Only  one,  missus ;  and  there  nebber  was  a  poor 
old  nigger  had  a  better  husband  than  I  did.  I  lived 
with  him  thirty  years ;  smack  up  to  the  time  he 
died  ;  and  now  ought  n't  it  to  be  a  great  pleasure 
to  me  to  think  he  was  always  kind,  and  that  there 
nebber  was  one  jarring  word  between  us  ?" 

"  Certainly  it  should.     Good-bye,  Violet." 


RELICS    OF    BARBARISM.  l8/ 

"Far'well,  my  kind  missus,  far'well,  far'well.  I 
hope  we  will  meet  in  heaven,  if  we  don't  meet  here 
again." 

"  I  hope  so,  too,  Violet.  I  shall  be  real  glad  to 
see  you  there." 

"  I  'm  sure  we  shall  know  each  other." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Violet.     Good-bye." 

On  the  same  street  with  these  lives  Charley 
White,  preacher,  and  leader  of  prayer-meetings, 
his  countenance  beaming  with  good  nature,  and 
enjoying  the  reputation  of  being  smart  as  well  as 
devout.  He  regrets  that  he  cannot  read,  but  knows 
a  heap  of  hymns.  Would  like  me  to  give  him  a 
good  shirt  and  hat,  that  "  I  may  look  kinder  decent 
when  I  goes  among  folks,"  and  talks  of  "  making  a 
prescription  to  buy  a  pair  of  shoes." 

He  was  a  slave  up  to  the  fall  of  Petersburg,  has 
changed  masters  many  times,  and  seems  to  think 
it  a  grand  joke  that  he  is  no  longer  a  salable 
article. 

"  How  much  did  you  bring  at  the  sale,  Charley  ?" 

"  The  last  time  I  was  sold,  missus,  they  put  me 
on  the  block,  here  at  Petersburg  two  years  ago 
come  June,  and  sold  me  for  four  hundred  dollars  in 
Confederate  money.  Dat  was  only  forty  dollars  in 
gold,  yah,  yah,  yah,  he,  he,  he,"  and  1  leave  him 
half  convulsed  with  his  yah,  yahs,  he,  hes. 

Walking  half  a  mile  from  the  camp,  across  the 
track  of  a  demolished  railroad,  which  a  year  ago 


188  RELICS    OF    BARBARISM. 

was  in  constant  use,  carrying  supplies  from  City 
Point  to  our  great  army  investing  Petersburg,  ,1 
came  to  a  little  settlement  of  the  more  enterprising, 
who  are  determined,  if  possible,  to  make  a  living 
for  themselves.  Some  do  so  by  "  odd  jobs  "  in  the 
town.  Some  by  digging  lead  balls,  with  which 
many  of  the"  hills  around  are  as  thickly  sown  as 
corn-fields  after  the  spring's  planting. 

A  woman,  whose  only  clothing  for  herself  and 
little  daughter  for  the  last  two  years  has  been  old 
tenting,  or  other  refuse  of  camps,  patched  together, 
tells  me,  "  I  and  my  husband  digs  balls  all  the 
week,  and  Saturday  we  sells  them  for  two  dollars 
and  a  half,  and  buys  corn-meal  and  old  bacon.  We 
thought  we  would  n't  bother  the  Government  to 
give  us  anything,  it  has  so  many  to  take  care  of; 
and  we  has  taken  care  of  ourselves  ever  since  you 
alls  came  into  Petersburg." 

Marth  Wiley  stands  leaning  over  the  fence  which 
surrounds  her  little  cabin.  I  declined  her  invita 
tion  to  "walk  in,"  but  stand  and  talk  with  her  in  the 
pleasant  sunshine.  She  is  a  handsome  quadroon 
woman,  with  large,  black  eyes  and  a  very  sweet 
voice.  The  little  mulatto  girl,  Etta,  with  her  mo 
ther's  eyes,  and  hair  like  an  infinity  of  cork-screws 
set  thickly  over  her  head,  looks  up  at  me  wonder- 
ingly,  as  I  take  a  slender  twig  from  her  hand  and 
run  it  through  the  rows  of  woolly  screws,  not  crisp 
and  hard  like  the  hair  of  most  colored  children, 
but  soft  and  pliable  as  down.  The  father  is  at  his 


RELICS    OF    BARBARISM.  ig 

daily  toil,  and  Andrew,  the  pretty  octoroon  boy,  in 
whose  face  you  can  hardly  discern  a  trace  of  the 
African,  is  at  school.  Remarking  on  the  difference 
of  complexion  in  the  two  children,  draws  from 
Martha  some  account  of  her  slave  life. 

Her  master  is  a  wealthy  physician  in  Dinwiddie. 
He  is  her  father,  and  the  father  of  her  boy  Andrew. 
Also  the  father  of  her  brother  and  sister,  and  of 
her  sister's  two  children.  Yet  he  never  gave  them 
a  "  string  of  clothing  "  for  their  children.  For  this 
they  were  obliged  to  "  scuffle  "  as  they  could,  at  the 
same  time  working  hard  for  the  doctor's  family. 
She  and  Wiley  had  always  loved  each  other,  but 
the  doctor  never  allowed  him  to  visit  her.  His 
visits  were  always  by  stealth,  and  when  discovered 
were  succeeded  by  a  whipping  from  her  master, 
"with  raw-hide,  paddle,  strap,  or  switch."  At 
length  came  the  "  year  of  jubilee ; "  but  Wiley 
could  not  come  away  without  Martha  because  he 
loved  her,  and  Martha  could  not  come  without  An 
drew  because  she  loved  him  ;  so  they  came,  bring 
ing  the  two  children,  who  are  equally  dear  to  her ; 
and  the  freed  bondsman  is  working  hard  to  earn 
bread  for  the  son  of  the  wealthy  doctor. 

These  are  not  extreme  or  exceptional,  but  only 
representative  cases  of  such  as  we  meet  everywhere 
among  the  freedmen.  They  are  but  the  natural 
outgrowth  of  that  "peculiar  institution"  which, 
four  years  ago,  Vice-President  Stephens  declared  to 
be  the  "  Corner-stone  of  the  Confederacy." 


CHAPTER    V. 

A   DAY  WITH   THE  FREED  MEN. 

FEBRUARY  8,  1866. 

QUITE  early  this  morning,  before  I  had  arisen 
^^  from  the  breakfast-table,  there  were  several 
knocks  at  my  door,  by  people  of  whom  it  was  almost 
literally  true  that  they  had  "  nothing  to  wear." 

Good  human  creatures,  too,  made  of  the  same 
kind  of  clay  as  yourself,  Miss  Flora  McFlimsey, 
with  the  same  capacities  for  suffering  and  enjoy 
ment,  and,  according  to  their  conditions,  just  as 
anxious  to  make  a  good  appearance  in  the  world. 

My  little  waiting-maid,  Lucy,  put  several  of  them 
off  with  information  that  "  Miss  Charlotte  was  at 
breakfast ;  "  but  one,  more  importunate  than  the  rest, 
pressed  her  claims  so  resolutely  that  Lucy  was 
obliged  to  succumb.  By  this  time,  having  finished 
my  breakfast,  I  went  to  the  door,  and  found  an  aged 
woman,  who,  I  afterwards  learned,  rejoiced  in  the 
aristocratic  name  of  Isabella  Pegram.  She  was  of 
low  stature,  her  garments  clean  and  tidy,  though 
made  up  of  patches  in  which  white  predominated; 
the  blue  cape  of  a  military  coat  buttoned  around 
her  shoulders,  with  its  bright  brass  buttons,  a  close 
hood,  made  of  some  dark  material,  drawn  tightly 

190 


A     DAY    WITH     THE    FREEDMEN.  IQI 

down  over  her  withered  features,  and  a  heavy  walk 
ing-stick  in  her  hand. 

"  Good  morning,  aunty;  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  Only  tol'able,  thank  you,  missus  ;  how  is  your 
self?" 

"  Quite  well,  I  thank  you ;  what  do  you  wish 
for?" 

"  I 's  a  lady  that 's  never  been  to  see  you  before, 
and  I  wants,  if  you  please,  ma'am,  to  get  some 
clo'se  for  myself  and  my  three  little  gran'children. 
They  's  motherless  chillun,  and  has  nobody  to  take 
care  of  'em  but  me." 

"  How  far  have  you  walked  this  morning,  aunty?" 

"Three  miles,  missus." 

"  Then  you  must  be  tired ;  come  in  and  rest  a 
little." 

"  'Deed,  missus,  I  'se  mighty  tired,  and  painified 
in  my  limbs,  too,"  and,  declining  the  proffered 
chair,  she  seats  herself  humbly  on  the  hearth,  in 
my  chimney-corner. 

"  How  old  are  you,  aunty  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  missus,  how  old  I  is;  but  I  knows 
I  is  n't  young,  'cause  I  has  so  many  old  folk's  pains." 

"  You  ought  not  to  be  out  this  cold  morning, 
with  your  painified  limbs." 

"  Tears  like  it 's  been  mighty  cold  ever  since 
Christmas,  but  we  could  n't  'spect  any  thing  else, 
'cause  it  was  such  pious  weather  all  afore  Christ 
mas,  and  what  can't  be  holp  must  be  enjured" 


192  A     DAY    WITH     THE    FREEDMEN. 

I  was  now  ready  to  go  to  the  store-room,  whither 
I  was  followed  by  the  retinue  that  had  been  wait 
ing  around  the  door,  all  wishing  "to  draw,"  and 
from  whence  I  had  scarcely  dismissed  Isabella, 
with  a  big  bundle  of  such  articles  as  I  thought 
adapted  to  her  wants,  when  a  woman  of  Amazonian 
proportions  pressed  through  the  crowd. 

"  Here  's  I,  missus.  I  'se  the  lady  that  spoke  to 
you  last  night ;  and  you  promised  me  some  things 
for  myself  and  my  two  gran'  chillun.  I  walked 
yesterday  from  crack  o'day  till  sun-down,  ten  miles, 
to  come  to  you,  'cause  I  heard  you  had  some  things 
to  give  to  we  all.  This  coat  as  I  has  on  I  borrowed 
from  a  neighbor,  and  my  little  gran'  chillun  is  a' 
most  stark  naked.  I  'se  done  men',  an  men',  an' 
men,'  an'  men'.  I  'se  got  to  walk  back  to-day,  so 
please,  ma'am,  discharge  me  as  soon  as  you  can. 
Here  's  my  ticket"  Saying  which,  she  held  out  a 
bit  of  paper  on  which  was  neatly  written,  in  a  lady's 
hand,  "Judy  Green  —  sixty  years  old.  Has  been 
the  mother  of  seventeen  children.  Has  had  her 
right  arm  broken." 

Having  "discharged"  Judy  with  a  bundle  as 
large  as  she  was  able  to  carry,  and  for  which  she 
was  very  grateful,  assuring  me  that  she  would  come 
and  see  me  again  when  the  walking  gets  better,  I 
attend  to  the  others,  and,  after  due  inquiry  into  the 
circumstances,  make  up  a  bundle  for  each  of  such 
articles  as  they  seem  most  to  require.  Some  receive 


A     DAY    WITH     THE    FREEDMEN.  IQ3 

the  gifts  as  a  matter  of  course,  while  others  almost 
dance  for  joy  at  the  sight  of  the  warm  gar 
ments,  taxing  their  vocabulary  to  the  utmost  for 
words  to  express  their  gratitude  to  me  and  the 
kind  donors  at  the  North,  whom  they  "  does 
love,"  and  saying,  as  they  turn  away  with  their 
faces  all  aglow,  "  I  '11  fetch  you  some  more  eggs, 
Miss  Charlotte ;  "  or,  "  My  husband  says  he  '11  kill 
you  some  more  ol'hars" — hares  being  plenty  at  this 
season. 

Among  the  applicants  are  Rachel  Harper,  who 
has  been  the  mother  of  eighteen  children,  six  of 
whom  are  living  with  her,  asking  Government 
rations  this  morning  for  the  first  time,  as  the  leaden 
balls  are  "  getting  scace,"  and  Mary  Perham,  a  widow 
with  eight  children,  for  five  of  whom  she  draws 
rations,  and  "  has  to  scuffle  for  the  rest." 

Ann  Brown,  whose  noble  determination  not  to 
"  bother  the  Government "  was  spoken  of  in  a  pre 
vious  letter,  has  come  to  ask  for  something  in  which 
to  shroud  her  little  girl  (the  last  of  eight  children), 
who  died  last  night.  In  reply  to  my  few  words  of 
condolence,  she  says,  quietly,  "  She  said  just  before 
she  died,  '  I  'm  going  home  to  rest.  Don't  cry 
when  I  'm  gone,  mammy.'  " 

One  woman  wants  a  "  dost  of  castor-oil  "  for  her 
sick  child ;  and  as  I  take  down  the  bottle  from  the 
shelf,  she  presents  a  small  glass  inkstand  with  a 
little  side  spout. 

17  N 


194  A     DAY    WITH    THE    FREEDMEN. 

"  This  is  a  very  inconvenient  vessel  to  take  it  in ; 
why  did  n't  you  bring  a  cup  ?  " 

"  Hadn't  any." 

"  What  have  you  besides  this  ?  " 

"  Only  a  small  chance  of  old  tin  cans  and  a 
spoon." 

After  the  crowd  had  subsided  a  little,  a  nice-look 
ing  quadroon  boy  comes  to  ask  for  shoes.  I  allow 
him  to  come  in  and  try  on  some  second-hand  boots, 
and  he  fits  himself  to  a  pair,  which  makes  his  hand 
some  eyes  shine.  In  the  meantime  he  tells  his 
story  :  Was  "  raised  in  North  Carolina."  Was  in 
the  rebel  army  during  the  first  two  years  of  the  war, 
waiting  on  his  master;  then  was  taken  into  the 
Union  army,  and  waited  on  Federal  officers.  Now 
is  working  with  his  uncle  near  here. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"John  Richards  is  my  Sunday  name;  my  every 
day  name,  John  Atis." 

Thus  passed  the  morning,  and  I  had  just  returned 
to  my  log-cabin,  when  an  Irish  woman,  whom  I 
had  known  in  Petersburg  last  summer,  came  in.  I 
was  familiar  with  her  story.  Her  husband  was  an 
industrious,  hard-working  man,  and,  having  his  wife 
and  five  little  children  to  support,  had  avoided  going 
into  the  rebel  army.  To  do  this,  he  had  sometimes 
been  obliged  to  absent  himself  from  his  family,  and 
remain  in  concealment  for  a  month  at  a  time. 

One  evening,  last  winter,  his  wife  being  out  of  the 


A     DAY    WITH    THE    FREEDMEN.  IQ5 

house,  and  he  having  just  been  up-stairs  to  put  his 
little  ones  in  bed,  three  rebel  soldiers  came  into  the 
yard  and  called  him  outside.  The  moment  he 
appeared,  they  all  three  discharged  their  muskets  at 
him,  and  he  fell.  He  had  life  enough  left  to  crawl 
into  the  house.  "When  I  came  home,"  she  said, 
"  I  found  him  lying  dead  across  the  hearth,  and 
Christmas-day  I  buried  him."  The  shock  broke 
her  heart ;  but  she  must  still  struggle  to  get  bread 
for  her  children.  "  Och,  mavourneen,"  she  said,  as 
she  sat  down,  wiping  away  the  tears,  "  an'  it 's  hard 
ships  has  driven  me  out  to  ye.  I  nivir  tho't  I  could 
be  so  poor,  or  see  such  hard  times  as  I  have  seen 
since  ye  went  away.  They  stole  me  mule  that  was 
earning  me  three  dollars  a  day;  then  they  stole  me 
pigs  and  me  hens ;  and  then  I  laid  down  sick,  and  I 
thought  sure  I  was  about  to  die.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  the  money  ye  gave  me  when  ye  went  away, 
we  'd  all  a'  perished.  Sure  that  was  the  dearest  ten 
dollars  I  ever  had  in  me  life;  may  the  Lord  Al 
mighty  bless  ye." 

"I  am  very  glad  the  money  was  useful  to  you; 
but  your  gratitude  is  due  to  friends  at  the  North, 
who  pitied  your  condition,  and  sent  the  money  for 
your  relief." 

"Sure  the  people  of  the  North  is  kind.  I  wish  I 
was  at  the  North.  Here,  they  all  look  strange  upon 
me.  I  Ve  been  in  the  country  now  five  years,  and  I 
know  nobody." 


196  A     DAY    WITH     THE    FREEDMEN. 

I  gave  her  a  bundle  of  such  articles  as  I  had  at 
hand  for  her  children,  and  she  left  for  her  return 
walk  of  four  miles,  encouraged  by  the  promise  of 
help  hereafter. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  Sylvia  Oliver  comes  in  to 
ask  me  to  write  a  letter  to  her  "  old  master,"  from 
whom  she  has  been  absent  only  a  few  weeks.  So 
I  open  my  desk  and  sit  down  to  write  while  she 
dictates.  "  Tell  him  it  took  all  the  money  I  had  to 
come  to  Petersburg ;  and  so  I  could  not  go  any 
farther,  and  since  I  came  here  I  have  heard  my 
mother  is  dead.  Tell  him  I  would  not  have  left 
him,  only  I  was  so  anxious  to  see  my  mother.  Tell 
him,  if  he  will  send  me  money  to  come  back  with, 
I  will  try  to  be  a  faithful  servant.  I  will  try  to 
make  it  up  to  him.  Tell  him,  I  had  rather  live  with 
him  and  Miss  Ann  than  any  one  else," 

Sylvia  is  intelligent,  quiet,  and  womanly  in  man 
ner,  lovable  and  grateful  in  disposition.  The  de 
sire  to  return  is  creditable  both  to  herself  and 
her  master,  to  whom  she  is  sincerely  attached,  and 
whom  she  regrets  ever  having  left. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

MY  SABBATH  MORNING   SERVICE. 

MARCH  18,  1866. 

THIS  morning,  before  I  had  quite  finished  mak 
ing  my  toilet,  and  ere  the  sun  seemed  to  have 
measured  a  yard  above  the  eastern  horizon,  the 
door  of  my  log-cabin  opened  gently,  and  a  tall, 
fine-looking  man,  with  a  basket  in  his  hand,  looked 
in,  saying,  "  Good-morning,  Miss  Charlotte ;  some 
eggs  for  your  breakfast." 

Having  seen  this  man  once  before,  I  recognized 
him,  and  returned  his  salutation  with,  "Good-morn 
ing,  George."  He  was  a  mulatto,  with  a  frank, 
pleasant  face,  polite  manners,  and  using  just  such 
language  as  a  white  gentleman  would  under  similar 
circumstances. 

Taking  the  basket  from  his  hand,  I  found  a  dozen 
eggs,  laid  nicely  between  layers  of  cotton,  and  took 
them  out  with  a  feeling  akin  to  weeping;  for  I  knew 
how,  from  day  to  day,  they  had  been  gathered  and 
laid  away  for  me,  where  many  little  mouths  had 
watered  for  them,  and  that  they  were  now  brought 
twenty-five  miles,  an  offering  of  affection.  George 
lives  ten  miles  above  Dinwiddie  Court-House,  and 
17*  i97 


198         MY    SABBATH    MORNING    SERVICE. 

Dinwiddie  Court-House  is  at  least  fifteen  miles 
from  here. 

"  We  have  come  once  more  to  you,  Miss  Char 
lotte,"  he  said,  "  to  see  if  you  can  give  us  a  little 
help  for  our  wives  and  children.  We  could  not 
afford  to  lose  another  day  from  our  work,  so  we 
started  yesterday,  two  hours  to-night,  and  walked 
to  within  six  miles  of  the  Grove,  and  then  struck 
a  fire  and  camped  out." 

"  You  are  trying  to  make  a  crop  for  yourself 
now,  are  you,  George?" 

"  Yes,  madam.  I  hire  a  piece  of  ground,  and 
pay  the  owner  one-fourth  of  the  crop  ;  and  then  I 
give  him  two  days'  work  out  of  every  week  for  the 
use  of  his  horse  to  plough  my  ground." 

"Were  you  a  slave  or  a  free  man  heretofore  ?  " 

"Always  a  slave,  madam.  I  was  sold  out  of 
Maryland  into  Virginia,  five  years  ago  this  gone 
Christmas,  and  have  been  with  my  owner  in  Din 
widdie  ever  since,  until  the  surrender." 

His  countenance  fell  when  I  told  him  that  now, 
as  when  he  came  last  week,  I  could  give  him  only 
a  very  little  help  ;  and  at  my  exclamation  of  surprise 
that  he  should  have  taken  this  long  walk  a  second 
time,  he  said,  "  You  know,  Miss  Charlotte,  that 
every  little  helps,  and  when  a  man  has  wife  and 
children  to  work  for,  he  is  bound  to  make  all  edges 
cut,  if  it  is  only  for  three  cents." 

Looking  out  on  the  street  in  front  of  my  cabin, 
I  saw  a  company  of  seventeen, —  fifteen  men  and  two- 


MY    SABBATH    MORNING    SERVICE.          199 

women, — who  had  come  with  George,  and  for  whom 
he  acted  as  leader  and  spokesman.  I  took  their 
names  and  the  number  of  persons  whom  they  repre 
sented,  and  found  the  aggregate  to  be  eighty-five. 
With  one  or  two  exceptions,  they  were  sad,  earnest- 
looking  men,  taking  up  courageously  the  heavy 
burden  which  had  all  at  once  fallen  upon  them,  and 
appreciating,  just  as  we  would,  the  great  blessing 
of  freedom. 

When  I  told  them  how  sorry  I  was  that  I  could 
not  do  more  for  them,  because  my  supplies  were 
limited,  and  great  numbers  coming  to  me  daily  from 
as  great  or  greater  distances,  as  needy  as  them 
selves —  that  the  people  of  the  North  sympathized 
with  them,  were  anxious  that  they  should  prove 
themselves  worthy  of  freedom,  and  were  trying  to 
help  them  a  little  now,  hoping  to  encourage  and 
give  them  a  start,  so  that  hereafter  they  can  take 
care  of  themselves,  they  replied,  taking  off  their 
poor,  ragged  hats,  "  That  is  what  we  want  to  do, 
missus.  We  are  bound  to  take  care  of  ourselves,  if 
they  will  only  give  us  a  chance.  We  have  worked 
to  support  ourselves  and  the  Johnnies  likewise ;  we 
ought  now  to  be  able  to  support  ourselves.  We 
scuffle  hard  to  get  bread  for  our  wives  and  children ; 
but  we  cannot  get  money  to  buy  clothes,  and  we 
don't  know  but  they  '11  have  to  go  naked  yet.  God 
bless  the  Northern  people  for  what  they  are  doing 
for  us !  the  best  thing  they  have  given  us  is  our 
freedom." 


2OO          MY    SABBATH     MORNING    SERVICE. 

Going  to  my  store-room,  I  found  that,  after  the 
great  demands  of  the  past  week,  there  still  remained 
some  valuable  articles,  enough  to  give  to  each  a 
pair  of  shoes  for  some  of  the  little  feet  at  home, 
one  warm  garment  for  each  household,  with  other 
little  articles  that  would  be  acceptable  where  nothing 
could  come  amiss. 

"  Thank  God,  and  you  too,"  they  said,  "  for  this ; " 
asking  nothing  for  themselves,  though  their  patched 
and  ragged  garments  would  have  been  a  sufficient 
appeal  if  my  stock  of  men's  clothing  had  not  been 
entirely  exhausted. 

My  heart  went  after  them  sorrowfully  as  they 
walked  away  with  their  little  bundles,  which  I  would 
gladly  have  made  larger,  for  I  knew  too  well  the 
story  of  their  distress,  though,  as  some  of  them 
say,  "  None  but  Christ  knows  all  we  have  suffered." 

Many  of  the  old  masters,  after  having  charged 
them  with  unwillingness  to  work,  and  predicted  that 
they  will  starve,  are  determined  that  their  predic 
tions  shall  be  verified.  They  hire  them  at  the 
lowest  possible  rates,  and  withhold  the  stipulated 
sum  when  it  is  due.  If  the  laborer  succeeds  in 
obtaining  the  hire  for  which  he  has  worked  so 
hard,  it  hardly  suffices  to  buy  corn-meal  and  bacon 
enough  to  keep  wife  and  children  from  starving. 
To  buy  clothing  at  the  present  high  prices  is  not 
to  be  thought  of.  It  is,  therefore,  no  great  wonder 
that,  when  rumor  goes  from  neighbor  to  neighbor 
that  these  much  coveted  articles  are  to  be  obtained 


MY    SABBATH     MORNING    SERVICE.          2OI 

by  a  walk  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles,  they  should, 
like  Joseph's  starving  brethren  when  they  heard 
that  there  was  corn  in  Egypt,  take  up  the  pilgrim's 
staff,  and  journey  patiently  over  the  weary  way. 
To  them  it  is  no  holiday  excursion,  but  a  measure 
to  which  they  are  driven  by  the  sorest  need. 

What  strikes  one  as  the  greatest  peculiarity  about 
them  is  the  incongruity  between  their  tattered  gar 
ments  and  their  truly  polite  and  respectful  manner. 
An  old  man,  after  walking  from  early  dawn  till 
starry  eve,  knocks  at  my  door,  and,  as  I  answer  the 
summons,  he  accosts  me  with  all  the  grace  of  "  a 
gentleman  of  the  old  school ;  "  always  inquiring 
kindly  after  my  health  before  he  makes  known  his 
errand, —  which,  indeed,  hardly  needs  to  be  told. 
After  the  customary  compliments  have  been  passed, 
bowing  low  with  hat  in  hand,  or  finger  on  its  ragged 
rim,  he  proceeds  briefly  and  pathetically  to  spread 
before  me  the  story  of  his  poverty,  of  which  the 
destitution  of  wife  and  children  is  always  the  bur 
den,  and  begs  me,  "  for  Christ's  sake,  to  do  him  a 
little  good,  now  that  he  has  walked  so  far." 

Through  the  constant  efforts  of  friends  at  the 
North,  who  never  weary  in  well-doing,  I  have  been 
able  to  give  something  to  almost  every  applicant. 
I  know  that  the  gifts  are  often  received  as  coming 
directly  from  the  Father,  in  whom  they  have  im 
plicit  faith  that  he  will  not  forsake  "  his  poor  little 
ones,"  and  looked  upon  as  weapons  with  which  they 
may  a  little  longer  keep  the  demon  want  at  bay. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

LETTER    TO  A    SABBATH-SCHOOL. 

POPLAR  SPRINGS,  February  26,  1866. 

the  Central  Church  Sabbath-School,  Bangor, 
Maine : — I  have  the  pleasure  of  acknowledging 
the  receipt  of  a  donation  of  twenty-five  dollars,  from 
the  Sabbath-School  of  Central  Church,  Bangor,  for 
the  relief  of  freed  people  of  this  encampment.  As 
we  naturally  feel  an  interest  in  those  whom  we 
have  benefited,  I  take  it  for  granted  that  the  mem 
bers  of  the  Sabbath-school  would  like  to  know 
something  of  those  who  are  thus  made  the  recipi 
ents  of  their  charity,  and  I  will  therefore  endeavor 
to  answer  to  some  extent  the  question  which  they 
would  perhaps  ask,  viz. :  "  What  has  been  done  with 
our  money  ?  " 

In  looking  over  our  encampment,  it  was  found 
that  there  was  a  large  number  of  old  men,  each 
living  in  a  little  hut  by  himself,  all  of  whom  were 
in  a  very  miserable  condition.  Their  clothes  and 
bedding  were  insufficient,  and  it  was  a  very  difficult 
matter  for  them  to  keep  up  their  fires,  and  draw 
their  rations  of  soup  and  bread,  with  such  assistance 
as  could  be  rendered.  In  order  to  have  them  pro 
vided  for  more  comfortably,  "  the  Captain,"  who 

202 


LETTER    TO    A    SA  B  B  ATH -SC  H  OOL.          2O3 

has  charge  of  the  camp,  had  a  long  stockade  build 
ing  fitted  up  and  furnished  with  bunks,  where  they 
could  all  be  collected  together  and  suitably  cared 
for.  I  was  able  to  furnish  all  necessary  bedding 
and  clothing  from  my  store-room,  and,  with  a  part 
of  your  money,  to  buy  for  each  a  nice  tin-cup  and 
plate,  spoon,  knife  and  fork,  and  various  other  arti 
cles  necessary  to  make  them  comfortable.  When 
to  these  was  added  a  little  tobacco,  they  were  per 
fectly  happy.  One  of  these  men  is  ninety-seven 
years  old,  and  all  of  them  nearly,  if  not  quite,  four 
score,  and  they  have  all  been  slaves  from  their  birth, 
until  President  Lincoln's  Proclamation  made  them 
free. 

Sometimes,  when  I  go  to  see  them,  I  take  my 
Bible,  and  read  a  few  chapters  to  them.  This  is 
the  greatest  treat  they  can  possibly  have.  They 
listen  with  the  most  earnest  attention,  and,  as  soon 
as  I  have  finished,  burst  out  into  exclamations  like 
these  :  —  "  Glory  to  de  Lord  dat  I  'se  heard  dis  yere 
word  to-day!"  "Glory  to  King  Jesus!"  "  Dat 
is  de  truth  dat  I  'se  been  telling  dem  dis  fifty  year, 
dat  God  is  light,  and  in  him  is  no  darkness  !  "  "I 
knows  dat  is  true,  for  he  has  tole  me  so  ;  my  heart 
cries  out  dat  it  is  true —  I  in  you  and  you  in  me, 
you  tote  your  burdens  and  I  tote  you  ! "  "  Dat," 
referring  to  a  short  Psalm,  "  is  a  kinder  little  pra'ar 
to  say  before  de  shickens  crows  in  de  morning." 
"  Dat  entices  me  to  look  more  to  my  Father,  and 
put  all  my  'pendence  on  him." 


2O4         LETTER    TO    A    S  A  B  B  AT  H  -  SC  H  OOL. 

,  Another  way  in  which  it  has  afforded  me  great 
satisfaction  to  have  the  means  of  helping  these  peo 
ple,  is  by  furnishing  them  with  potatoes  for  planting. 
Those  who  were  able  to  secure  in  any  way  a  piece 
of  ground  began  to  plough  the  first  of  February, — 
for  spring  has  already  come  to  us  in  Virginia ;  and 
everywhere,  as  you  ride  about  in  the  country,  you 
may  see  the  soft  earth  turned  up  and  ready  for 
planting,  and  tufts  of  fresh  green  grass  and  leaves 
springing  up  in  all  sheltered  places.  Many  of 
those  who  have  required  assistance  in  this  way  are 
widows,  whose  only  hope  of  being  able  to  provide 
for  their  families  is,  as  they  say,  "to  make  a  crap 
of  corn  and  potatoes ;  "  and  it  has  been  a  great 
blessing  to  them  to  be  provided  with  seed.  Two 
of  these  women  live  three  miles  apart.  One  of 
them  owns  a  poor,  old,  broken-down  horse,  but  has 
not  strength  to  hold  the  plough,  and  is  not  able  to 
hire  help ;  the  other  is  strong  and  robust,  but  has 
no  horse  —  so  the  latter  follows  the  plough  for  the 
former  every  other  day,  and  on  the  alternate  days 
has  the  use  of  the  horse  for  ploughing  her  own 
land. 

Already  the  tender  plants,  which  contain  promise 
of  future  subsistence,  are  shooting  up  under  our 
warm  skies,  and  in  a  few  weeks  many  a  sunny  ridge 
and  slope  will  be  green  with  the  precious  crop 
planted  through  your  charity. 

Another  question  which  you  will  doubtless  ask 


LETTER    TO    A    SABBATH-SCHOOL.          2O5 

(since  no  one  wishes  to  help  those  who  will  not 
help  themselves),  is,  "  Will  they  work  ?  " 

It  is  very  true  that  there  are  among  them  some 
lazy  ones,  who  prefer  to  beg,  or  live  on  the  hard 
tack  and  salt  fish  provided  by  Government,  rather 
than  to  exert  themselves,  —  but  they  are  few  in 
comparison  with  the  whole.  The  extent  and  sever 
ity  of  the  efforts  made  by  many  before  asking  aid, 
and  their  determination  to  help  themselves,  is  sur 
prising. 

To  say  that  the  freed  men  and  women  will  not 
work  for  their  own  maintenance  is,  I  think,  as  great 
a  libel  as  was  ever  perpetrated  on  any  portion  of 
the  human  race. 

It  were  nearer  the  truth  to  say  they  are  agonizing 
for  work,  —  holding  out  their  poor,  empty  hands  — 
already  indurated  by  the  toils  of  the  taskmaster  — 
to  God,  the  Government,  the  people  of  the  United 
States,  begging,  pleading,  imploring  that  they  may 
be  filled  with  honest,  remunerative  labor. 

I  commenced  an  industrial  school  on  the  8th  of 
January.  It  was  a  bitter  cold  day ;  but  thirty-four 
women  were  present,  some  having  walked  three  or 
four  miles,  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  earning 
something. 

It  was  so  cold  that  we  could  not  make  ourselves 

comfortable  in  the  school-room,  and  they  took  the 

work  home.     The  garments  were  returned,  made 

very  nicely.     One  woman,  who  had  the  misfortune 

18 


2O6    LETTER  TO  A  S  ABB  ATH  -  SCHOO  L. 

to  lose  her  right  arm,  made  a  pair  of  drawers,  but 
ton-holes  and  all,  perfectly  well. 

In  subsequent  meetings  the  number  has  increased 
to  fifty-seven.  At  the  second  meeting,  after  all  had 
been  supplied  with  work,  and  were  sewing  very 
quietly,  I  said,  "Perhaps  you  would  like  me  to  read 
something  to  you."  They  replied,  "Oh,  yes,  ma'am. 
Please  read  to  us  in  the  Bible ;  we  like  to  hear  that 
better  than  anything  else."  I  read  at  first  a  few 
Psalms,  and  then  some  one  asked  for  the  story  of 
the  crucifixion,  which  I  read,  while  they  sewed  and 
listened  attentively.  Since  that  I  always  spend  a 
part  of  the  time  in  reading,  selecting  some  subject 
which  will  furnish  a  text  for  moral  instruction,  such 
as  they  seem  to  require.  The  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  procuring  work  are  so  great,  that  the  school 
is  necessarily  irregular ;  but  whenever  I  can  obtain 
it,  they  come  together,  always  pleased  to  do  so. 
Their  industry  and  propriety  of  deportment  could 
scarcely  be  surpassed  by  any  ladies  in  any  com 
munity.  Women  also  come  to  me  daily  from  three 
or  four  miles  around  asking  for  work,  they  are  so 
anxious  to  earn  something;  and  they,  as  well  as  the 
men,  seem  to  desire  nothing  so  much  as  to  get  pos 
session  of  a  small  piece  of  ground,  where  they  may 
"make  a  crap  of  corn  and  'baccy." 

During  the  past  month  the  health  of  the  camp 
has  been  remarkably  good,  and  there  has  been  less 
suffering  than  might  have  been  anticipated. 


LETTER    TO    A     S  A  B  B  AT  H -SC  H  OO  L.          2O/ 

For  the  good  order  and  comfortable  condition 
generally  prevailing,  we  are  greatly  indebted  to  the 
kindness  and  efficient  management  of  Mr.  Cochran, 
who,  as  agent  for  the  Freedmen's  Bureau,  super 
intends  the  camp. 

In  conclusion,  allow  me  to  express  the  hope  that 
the  kindness  shown  to  this  mosj  unfortunate  portion 
of  our  countrymen,  may  be  returned  in  an  increased 
measure  of  blessing  to  your  own  hearts  and  homes. 

"  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain' d ; 
It  droppeth,  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven, 
Upon  the  place  beneath;  it  is  twice  bless'd  — 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes." 

Yours,  truly, 

C.  E.  McKAY. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

AUNT  BECKY'S    TROUBLES. 
"  The  Short  and  Simple  Annals  of  the  Poor." 

THE  I /th  day  of  January,  1867,  differed  from 
nearly  every  other  day  that  we  had  had  in  Vir 
ginia  since  Christmas,  only  in  that  rain  had  been 
falling  instead  of  snow,  and  the  rain  had  come  per 
sistently,  and  in  torrents,  instead  of  drizzling  as 
usual.  But  rain,  or  snow,  or  biting  cold  could  not 
keep  from  my  door  applicants  for  charity. 

Some  kind  friends  at  the  North,  and  in  England, 
whose  hearts  had  been  touched  with  pity  for  the 
physical  sufferings  of  the  freed  people,  had  sent 
generous  supplies  of  warm  clothing  for  women  and 
children,  and  had  permitted  me  to  act  as  their  al 
moner.  This  joyful  fact  had  been  circulated  among 
the  people  of  the  adjoining  counties  and  distant 
plantations,  and  the  possibility  of  procuring  a  warm 
skirt,  or  blanket,  or  hood,  or  even  a  few  patches  for 
the  ragged  garments  of  the  little  ones,  was  a  suf 
ficient  inducement  for  undertaking  a  walk  of  ten, 
sometimes  even  of  twenty,  thirty  or  forty  miles, 
through  cold  and  tempest.  Among  the  shivering, 
bedraggled  victims  of  want  and  sorrow  who  came 
on  the  day  above  mentioned,  was  Aunt  Becky,  with 

208 


AUNT     BECKY   S    TROUBLES. 

two  daughters,  leaving  the  other  four,  with  their 
three  little  brothers,  in  the  hut  four  miles  away, 
where  I  used  to  see  them  last  winter. 

Aunt  Becky  was  still  young-looking,  of  a  bright 
complexion,  and  had  many  essentials  of  a  lady ; 
mild,  dark  eyes,  a  very  sweet  smile,  low,  soft  voice, 
and  a  good  use  of  language,  or,  in  Virginia  phrase, 
"  was  a  nice-spoken  nigger."  Her  husband  had 
been  killed  three  years  ago  by  the  kick  of  a  horse, 
and  left  her  with  nine  children,  the  youngest  an 
infant  of  a  few  days,  the  oldest,  Eliza,  a  girl  of  four 
teen  years. 

My  acquaintance  with  her  had  commenced  on  a 
cold  day  of  the  preceding  winter,  when  one  of  her 
neighbors  came  to  beg  me  to  go  to  her  and  carry 
some  medicine  for  Eliza,  who  was  in  a  fit,  they 
feared,  dying. 

With  such  remedies  as  I  had  at  hand,  I  hastened 
down  the  ravine,  across  the  track  of  the  military 
railroad,  up  to  the  old  camping  ground,  where,  in 
one  of  the  little  huts  that  Union  soldiers  had  oc 
cupied  a  year  before,  lived  Becky  with  her  nine 
children.  Eliza,  with  her  pretty,  childish  face,  in 
which  you  could  discern  only  the  slightest  tint  of 
African  blood,  was  lying  on  a  bunk  near  the  great 
fireplace,  pale,  rigid,  and  speechless,  though  with 
signs  of  life.  Her  new-born  baby,  having  just 
died,  was  laid  on  a  chest  near  by,  shrouded  in  a 
few  rags,  not  easily  spared  from  the  living. 
18*  O 


2IO  AUNT    BECKY   S    TROUBLES. 

The  mother,  with  a  countenance  expressing  that 
anguish  which  only  mothers  know,  was  quietly 
working  over  her,  —  rubbing  her  feet,  rubbing  her 
hands,  laying  her  hand  gently  on  the  cold  forehead, 
and  striving  with  endearing  epithets  to  call  her 
back  to  life.  "  Eliza,  honey,  does  n't  you  know 
me?  doesn't  you  know  your  mammy?  Here  are 
the  white  lady  done  come  to  see  you."  But  it  was 
all  in  vain.  The  frightened  eyes  rolled  wildly  in 
their  sockets,  but  gave  no  sign  of  recognition.  The 
next  day,  however,  I  heard  she  was  a  little  better, 
and  in  a  few  weeks  she  was  quite  well. 

The  next  time  I  went  to  see  Becky,  I  found  her 
bolstered  up  in  bed,  taking  her  turn  to  be  sick, 
while  Eliza  was  performing  the  duties  of  nurse  and 
cook.  Pouring  cold  water  on  a  quantity  of  corn- 
meal,  she  mixed  it  with  her  hand,  then  moulded  it 
into  balls,  which  she  tossed  from  one  hand  to  the 
other  until  they  were  well  beaten,  and  laid  them  on 
the  hearth  to  bake.  These  are  corn-dodgers.  Hoe 
cakes  baked  on  a  shovel,  or  hoe-  and  ash-cakes 
baked  in  hot  ashes,  are  all  made  the  same  way. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  that  Eliza  is  well  enough  to 
help  you,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  thank  God,"  replied  her  mother.  "  I  were 
jus'  a  telling  her  how  good  the  Lord  were  to  take 
the  chile  that  were  ready  to  go,  and  spar'  her  to 
repent  of  her  sins.  I  were  a'most  'stracted  with 
the  thought  of  her  dying;  an'  I  know'd  she  wa'n't 


AUNT  BECKY'S  TROUBLES.  211 

prepared.  But  as  for  me,  I  could  n't  help  her  den  ; 
I  were  the  blind  leading  the  blind.  But  now,  praise 
the  Lord,  He  have  given  me  new  light,  and  done 
took  the  burden  off  my  back.  He  have  taken  my 
feet  out  of  the  pit,  and  done  set  them  on  a  rock, 
and  have  put  a  new  song  in  my  mouth,  and  I  bless 
His  name."  Becky  went  on  a  long  time  in  this 
strain  of  praise  and  joy,  which,  contrasted  with  the 
poor  and  low  surroundings,  was  very  touching,  and 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes,  but  left  little  for  me  to 
say.  If  you  could  have  occupied  an  unobserved 
corner  of  her  hut  a  few  evenings  later,  you  might 
have  seen  Becky  and  her  three  eldest  daughters 
sitting  on  low  stools  around  the  fire,  their  hands 
folded  on  their  knees,  and  with  many  swayings  to 
and  fro  of  the  body,  and  expressive  upward  glances, 

singing,— 

Shall  we  meet  again  ? 
Shall  we  meet  again  ? 
I  '11  meet  you  in  heaven  to  part  no  more. 
Sisters,  far-ye-well, 
Brothers,  far-ye-well, 
God  Almighty  bless  you  : 
Shall  we  meet  again  ? 

This  they  sang  over  and  over  again,  in  their  own 
plaintive  way,  and  then  broke  into  the  lively  little 
refrain  — 

De  bell  done  ring, 

De  bell  done  ring, 

Good-morning,  John  the  Baptist, 

De  bell  done  ring. 


212  AUNT  BECKY'S  TROUBLES. 

Or,- 

Sister  Phoebe  gone  to  heaven, 

De  bell  done  ring; 
O,  I  know  she  mighty  happy, 

De  bell  done  ring; 
Jus'  got  over  to  the  heavenly  land, 
De  bell  done  ring. 

But  now  Becky  had  come  to  tell  me  her  troubles, 
how  she  and  the  children,  even  the  little  ones, 
"  certainly  did  work  faithful  in  the  corn-field  all 
summer  ;  "  that  one  day  Eliza  fainted  with  the  hoe 
in  her  hand,  and  she  "  were  mightily  afeared  they 
never  would  be  able  to  fetch  her  to ; "  that  "  they 
made  right  smart  of  corn,"  but  Mr.  Blick,  the 
owner  of  the  land,  came  and  took  half  instead  of 
the  fourth  part,  which  was  his  just  due;  that  little 
Edna  was  hired  out,  but  was  kept  out  in  the  cold  so 
much  that  her  poor  little  feet  were  frozen,  and  now 
she  was  at  home  unable  to  walk ;  and  to-day  she 
took  Eliza  to  town,  hoping  to  find  a  place  for  her, 
but  the  lady  to  whom  she  was  directed  had  pro 
vided  herself  with  a  servant,  and  she  must  go  back 
to  her  miserable  home.  "  How  is  it  possible,"  I 
ask  myself,  "  that  this  poor  woman,  with  only  her 
two  hands,  has  been  able  to  keep  ten  souls  and 
bodies  together,  through  the  last  year  of  suffering 
and  scarcity  ?  " 

Surely,  He  who  hears  the  young  ravens  when 
they  cry  has  been  her  helper.  As  His  instrument, 
I  gave  her  a  bundle  of  warm  clothing  for  herself 


AUNT    BECKY   S     TROUBLES.  213 

and  children,  not  forgetting  a  doll  for  little  Edna; 
and  with  thankful  hearts  they  retraced  their  way 
homeward,  through  the  cold,  driving  storm. 

I  had  heard  nothing  of  Becky  for  several  weeks, 
when  one  morning  I  recognized  her  face  among  the 
dusky  crowd  that  pressed  around  my  door.  She 
had  come,  she  said,  hardly  able  to  speak  for  the 
tears  and  sobs  that  she  could  not  keep  back,  to  ask 
me  to  please  give  her  "  something  to  put  little 
Bella  away  in.  She  died  last  night." 

She  had  not  suffered  much  from  sickness,  but  had 
seemed  to  pine  away,  and  grow  weaker  and  weaker 
every  day,  with  no  appetite ;  and  for  the  last  week 
had  not  tasted  food. 

"  But  this  did  n't  hurt  me  so  much,"  she  said,  "as 
the  death  of  little  Rose,  six  weeks  ago.  She  got 
up  and  went  out  one  night,  unbeknownst  to  us  all. 
It  were  that  cold  night  when  it  rained  and  light 
ened  so.  In  the  morning  I  made  shor  she  'd  done 
gone  into  Aunt  Maria's,  and  sent  Eliza  to  fetch  her 
home ;  but  they  had  n't  seen  her.  Then  we  was 
mightily  scared,  and  the  neighbors  all  turned  out  to 
hunt  for  her,  and  about  noon  they  found  her  away 
up  on  the  hill  lying  dead  under  a  tree.  I  reckoned 
she  started  to  go  into  Aunt  Maria's,  and  lost  her 
way,  and  then  a  jack-o'-lantern  led  her  off!" 

I  remembered  her  as  a  bright  little  creature  of 
six  years,  who,  when  I  was  sitting  in  her  mother's 
cabin,  would  run  up  behind  me  and  pluck  my  dress, 


214  AUNT  BECKY'S  TROUBLES. 

and  then  run  off  to  join  in  the  shout  of  the  merry 
group  of  little  woolly  heads  that  had  witnessed  the 
bold  achievement.  I  was  grieved  to  hear  of  her 
sad  fate,  and  did  not  wonder  at  Becky's  tears. 
When  I  questioned  her  about  her  circumstances, 
she  said  she  "  had  been  mightily  put  up  to  get 
along."  At  night,  they  were  "  so  scarce  of  kiver 
for  the  chillun,  it  seemed  as  if  it  was  only  God  that 
kept  them  from  freezing.  In  "  the  freezing  time,  a 
few  weeks  ago,  when  the  mills  all  done  stopped,  we 
couldn't  get  the  corn  ground,  and  jus'  had  to  bile 
it,  an'  eat  it  so."  It  was  not  surprising  that  little 
Bella  pined  away  and  died. 

I  gave  her  "  something  to  put  away  the  child  in," 
a  blanket,  and  some  clothing  for  those  that  were 
left,  and,  through  the  kindness  of  an  officer  of  the 
Freedman's  Bureau,  she  was  provided  with  a  coffin, 
which  some  of  her  neighbors  "toted"  out  for  her 
on  their  shoulders,  and  again,  with  many  thanks  and 
God-blessings,  she  turned  her  sorrowful  steps  to 
wards  the  wretched  little  home  for  which,  as  she 
says,  she  has  "  scuffled  so  hard." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

REUNIONS. 

NOTHING  in  real  life  can  be  more  touching 
and  romantic  than  the  reunions  constantly 
occurring  between  friends  and  kindred  long  sepa 
rated  by  the  inexorable  decrees  of  slavery,  the 
power  that  WAS  —  the  grim  tyrant  who,  having  so 
long  hunted  down  and  destroyed  the  helpless  and 
despairing,  is  now,  at  last,  himself  hunted  down 
and  vanquished. 

"  I 's  tinking  ebry  day,  missus,"  says  my  patient 
old  cook,  Sylvia,  "  dat  my  boy  will  come  to  me. 
He  be  's  a  man  now,  if  he  's  living,  for  he  were  sol' 
away  from  me  ten  years  ago  come  Christmas,  an' 
he  were  a  big  boy  den.  Mars'r  Robert  were  a 
mighty  good  mars'r;  but  he  'd  a  heap  o'  chillun  of 
his  own  to  provide  for,  and  so  he  were  forced  to 
sell  some  of  we-alls.  It's  a  heap  worse  'n  death, 
losing  'em  dat  way.  I  made  shor  I  done  seen  my 
boy  come  into  camp  las'  night,  but  it  turned  out  to 
be  Aunt  Peggy's  boy  come  from  North  Car'lina." 

I  have  seldom  seen  a  gentleman,  white  or  black, 
with  a  more  strikingly  handsome  countenance,  or 
more  graceful  and  easy  address,  than  Napoleon 
Johnson.  It  is  true,  that,  as  he  stood  before  me  to 

215 


2l6  REUNIONS. 

beg  clothing  for  his  old  mother  and  little  brother, 
you  could  hardly  have  told  whether  the  original 
material  of  his  garments  was  the  butternut-color 
of  the  plantation,  the  gray  of  the  rebel,  or  the  blue 
of  the  Federal  uniform,  so  skilfully  were  they  inter 
mingled  in  patches,  with  bits  of  old  tenting  super- 
added  here  and  there,  sewed  together  with  coarse, 
white  yarn,  and,  for  want  of  buttons,  pinned  with 
smooth  splinters  of  wood ;  yet,  withal,  clean  and 
tidy. 

"  But  you  are  young,  and  strong  for  work,"  I  said, 
"and  should  be  able  to  support  your  old  mother 
and  little  brother  without  the  help  of  charity." 

"  Indeed,  madam,  I  do  work,  day  and  night,  to 
get  bread  for  them,"  he  replied,  lifting  his  hat  with 
the  easy  gesture  and  smile  of  a  gentleman.  "  I  've 
just  found  my  old  mother,  and  got  a  little  place  for 
her  to  live  in;  but  she  has  nothing  to  wear,  and  I 
cannot  buy  clothes  for  her  now.  You  would  feel 
sorry,  madam,  to  see  how  naked  she  is.  I  was  sold 
at  sheriff's  sale  twenty  years  ago  this  planting  time, 
into  North  Carolina,  when  I  was  just  twelve  years 
old,  and  have  just  got  back  to  old  Virginia." 

"  But  how  did  you  find  your  mother  after  twenty 
years'  absence?" 

"  I  knew  where  I  left  her,  and  was  bound  to  find 
her  if  she  was  living ;  so  I  came  back  to  this  part, 
and  went  up  and  down  the  country,  inquiring  at  all 
the  plantations,  and  looking  into  the  faces  of  all  the 


REUNIONS.  217 

old  women  I  saw,  until  at  last  I  found  my  mother's 
face." 

And  so  this  handsome  octoroon  gentleman  of 
thirty-two,  with  his  soft,  black  eyes  and  musical 
voice,  whose  patched  and  many-colored  garments 
cannot  hide  the  real  beauty  of  his  soul  or  the  ele 
gance  of  his  manners,  has  been  all  his  life  a  chattel 
—  standing  on  the  auction-block,  knocked  off  to 
the  highest  bidder,  chained  hand  to  hand  and  foot 
to  foot  in  the  gang  with  women  and  children  driven 
like  dumb  cattle  to  the  slave-mart,  handed  about 
from  one  to  another  as  the  representative  of  a 
handful  of  gold,  ranking  in  his  master's  menage  a 
little  lower  than  his  favorite  dogs  and  horses.  The 
thought  is  overwhelming.  I  turn  my  face  from 
him  for  a  moment,  for  he,  with  his  life-long  famil 
iarity  with  such  terrible  facts,  will  not  understand 
the  meaning  of  these  tears. 

Julia  Jackson  was  a  pretty,  industrious  quadroon 
woman,  who  had  been  employed  in  our  hospital, 
and,  with  her  little  boy,  occupied  one  of  the  log- 
cabins  built  the  preceding  year  by  Union  soldiers. 
She  had  confided  to  me  her  expectation  of  being 
married  in  a  few  months  to  Richard  Hobbs,  and 
had  bespoken  my  assistance  in  furnishing  her 
trousseau.  Soon  after,  Richard  came  to  me  for  ad 
vice.  It  seemed  that  the  course  of  his  and  Julia's 
love  was  not  running  so  smooth  as  could  be  desired. 
He  really  loved  "Miss  Julia,"  he  said,  "but  she  had 
19 


2l8  REUNIONS. 

turned  him  out  because  he  had  cut  wood  for  another 
lady."  He  was  now  taking  care  of  Isabella,  whose 
husband  had  left  her, —  she  being  quite  ill,  and 
having  no  one  to  wait  on  her  but  himself.  His 
kind  attentions  to  Isabella,  while  they  had  aroused 
Julia's  jealousy,  had  also  kindled  her  repentance, 
and  she,  having  confessed  her  folly,  wanted  him  to 
come  back. 

"  Well,  Richard,  I  think  Julia  will  make  you  a 
very  good  wife ;  and  if  she  is  really  sorry  for  her 
unkindness,  I  advise  you  to  go  back  to  her." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Charlotte,  I  reckoned  she  'd  make  a 
mighty  nice  wife,  and  that  we  'd  be  married,  and 
go  North  with  you  in  the  spring.  I  thinks  I  '11  go 
back  to  her,  but  not  now.  I  '11  let  her  wait  awhile, 
seeing  she  done  turned  me  out  wunst." 

Not  long  after,  Richard  came  to  me  again,  one 
morning,  dressed  in  his  "  Sunday  clothes,"  his  pants 
tucked  nicely  under  his  high  boots,  and  his  toilet 
complete  with  the  exception  of  a  collar,  for  which, 
as  he  said,  he  had  come  to  ask  me. 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  married  to-day,  Richard  ?" 

"  No,  missus,  not  to-day.  I  '11  go  and  look  after 
my  wife,  Emmeline,  and  the  children  fust." 

"  Your  wife  and  children,  Richard  !  You  never 
told  me  you  were  married." 

"  No,  Miss  Charlotte,  I  did  n't  tol'  you,  because 
I  'se  been  away  from  my  wife  two  years,  an'  I 
thought  she  were  married  ag'in  by  this  time.  But  I 


REUNIONS.  219 

seen  a  boy  in  camp  last  night  that  done  come  from 
Brunswick  county,  whar  she  live ;  and  he  say  she 
are  having  a  mighty  hard  time  of  it,  and  want  me 
to  come  back.  So  I  '11  go." 

"And  so,  Richard,  you  love  Emmeline  better 
than  any  of  these  '  ladies  '  to  whom  you  have  been 
so  attentive  here  ?  " 

"  Well,  missus,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  if  Emmeline 
had  got  another  husband,  I  would  n't  mind  marry 
ing  one  of  these  ladies ;  but  I  feels  for  her  and  for 
my  two  little  chillun.  I  wants  to  be  far  an'  honest 
about  it,  and  I  can't  rest  till  I  go  and  see  how  it  is 
with  them.  If  she  is  n't  married,  I  '11  get  her  and 
the  chillun  out,  if  I  can ;  and  if  she  has  got  another 
man,  I  '11  fotch  the  chillun  here,  and  marry  one  of 
these  ladies, —  Miss  Julia,  I  thinks;  she  wants  me 
so  mighty  bad." 

On  further  inquiry,  I  learned  that  Richard  had 
left  his  wife  in  slavery  two  years  before,  near  the 
Weldon  railroad,  about  seventy  miles  south  of  our 
camp.  That  he  had  availed  himself  of  a  "  pamid" 
(raid)  of  Union  cavalry,  to  escape  from  the  bond 
age  which  he  did  not  then  know  was  so  soon  to  be 
lifted  from  his  race.  That  he  had  heard  afterwards 
that  his  young  master  had  threatened  to  shoot  him 
if  he  could  ever  find  him,  and,  consequently,  he 
would  be  obliged  to  go  secretly,  and  bring  his  wife 
and  children  away  in  the  night.  His  means  of  ac 
complishing  this  were  his  resolution,  his  two  hands 


22O  REUNIONS. 

and  two  feet.  Nothing  more.  He  thought  if  he 
could  "borrow"  two  dollars,  he  could  buy  his 
"  eatings  "  by  the  way ;  and  hoped  to  return  in  a 
week. 

I  gave  him  the  desired  collar,  and  the  two  dollars, 
and  advised  him  by  all  means  to  go  and  find  his 
wife  and  children,  if  it  were  possible.  Two  or  three 
weeks  had  elapsed,  and  I  was  beginning  to  fear  he 
had  come  to  grief  in  some  way,  when,  one  morning, 
as  I  was  sitting  at  the  breakfast-table,  the  door  of 
my  log-cabin  opened,  and  Richard  entered,  in  a 
very  dilapidated  condition.  His  "  Sunday  clothes  " 
were  in  rags.  His  boots,  which  were  new  and 
glossy  when  he  left,  looked  as  if  they  had  seen 
years  of  hard  service,  and  his  face,  so  black  and 
shining,  now  had  grown  thin  and  pale. 

"  I  'se  jus'  got  back  wid  my  life,  and  dat  's  all, 
missus;  but  I  'se  done  fotch  my  wife  an'  chillun." 

He  had  found  his  wife  in  the  same  little  cabin 
where  he  left  her  two  years  before.  She  had  known 
nothing  of  freedom,  save  that  her  master,  while 
exacting  her  accustomed  service,  had  felt  free  to 
give  her  nothing  in  return,  and  had  been  living  in 
the  constant  hope  of  seeing  or  hearing  from  Richard. 
His  old  master,  whose  plantation  was  near  that  of 
Emmeline's  master,  had  treated  him  kindly,  saying 
to  him,  "  You  Ve  always  been  a  good  nigger,  Rich 
ard,  and  I  wish  you  well.  You  have  a  right  noiv  to 
your  wife  and  children,  but  you  must  get  them  out 
in  the  night.  There  are  no  Union  men  in  this 


REUNIONS.  221 

neighborhood,  and  if  the  neighbors  see  you,  they'll 
shoot  you.  I  give  you  this  shot-gun  to  defend 
yourself  with  ;  but  keep  it  for  your  boy,  and  when 
he  grows  up,  give  it  to  him  as  a  present  from  me." 

His  young  master  sent  him  word  that  he  would 
shoot  him  if  he  found  him  on  his  plantation.  Four 
white  men,  with  guns,  were  lurking  about  his  wife's 
cabin  all  one  night,  but  he  managed  to  elude  them. 

Being  thus  warned  and  threatened,  he  had  availed 
himself  of  the  darkness  of  midnight  to  lead  away 
his  little  family  from  the  land  of  their  affliction. 
They  could  take  nothing  with  them  but  a  little  bag 
of  corn  bread  for  subsistence  by  the  way.  The 
daughter,  eight  years  old,  walked  by  the  side  of  her 
mother.  The  six-year  old  boy  he  "  toted  "  all  the 
way  in  his  arms.  The  journey  occupied  four  days, 
and  some  friendly  white  people  gave  them  shelter 
at  night 

When  the  way-worn  travellers  arrived  at  our 
camp,  "  Miss  Julia  "  received  them  kindly  in  her 
little  cabin ;  gave  them  a  share  of  her  ash-cakes 
and  corn-dodgers;  brought  water  and  bandages  for 
poor  Emmeline's  torn  and  swollen  feet,  and  lent 
her  a  dress  in  which  she  could  appear  when  she 
came  to  beg  one  for  herself. 

"  She  had  hoped  to  marry  Richard,"  she  said ; 
"  but  thought  he  did  right  in  going  back  to  his  wife, 
and,  as  Emmeline  had  no  other  husband,  she  had 
the  best  right  to  him." 
19* 


222  REUNIONS. 

It  would  be  pleasant  to  conclude  this  sketch  by 
drawing  a  picture  of  a  snug  little  cabin,  with  pretty 
flowers  in  front,  and  a  garden  patch  of  potatoes, 
cabbages,  and  corn  in  the  rear,  such  as  doubtless 
warmed  Richard's  imagination  and  nerved  his  cour 
age  during  those  weary  and  perilous  days  of  tramp 
ing  and  adventure.  But,  alas !  the  story  of  "  man's 
inhumanity  to  man "  continually  repeats  itself. 
When  I  returned  to  the  camp,  after  six  months'  ab 
sence,  I  learned  that  certain  white  men,  represent 
ing  the  law  of  the  land,  had  taken  away  all  guns  from 
colored  people,  and  among  them  the  precious  little 
shot-gun  that  Richard's  master  had  given  him  for 
his  own  defence,  and  an  heirloom  to  his  boy.  It  was 
hard  to  submit  to  this  new  phase  of  tyranny,  and, 
influenced  by  evil  counsellors,  Richard,  with  sev 
eral  others,  had  made  an  attempt  to  recover  his 
property.  The  house  containing  the  guns  had  been 
broken  open,  but,  in  the  scuffle  that  ensued,  Rich 
ard's  gun  had  been  broken  ;  and  though  no  one  was 
hurt,  he  with  three  or  four  of  his  companions  was 
arrested,  tried  by  Virginia  magistrates,  and  sentenced 
to  ten  years  in  the  penitentiary  at  Richmond. 

Poor  Emmeline  was  struggling  along  as  best  she 
could,  with  the  shadow  of  starvation  for  herself 
and  children  ever  by  her  side. 


CHAPTER   X. 

LETTERS  FROM  PETERSBURG,  VA.,  TO  JOEL  CAD- 
BURY,  JR.,  PHILADELPHIA. 

PETERSBURG,  VA.,  Jan.  9,  1867. 

DEAR  FRIEND. —  Sfnce  I  last  wrote,  some  few 
things  have  suggested  themselves  to  me  which  may 
be  interesting  to  the  friends  who  are  so  kind  as  to 
send  aid  to  the  poor  freedmen  of  the  South.  There 
are  in  Petersburg  thirteen  thousand  colored  people 
to  eight  thousand  whites.  Many  of  them  have 
been  doing  very  well  for  themselves,  buying  little 
patches  of  ground,  and  building  little  cabins,  and 
making  their  families  quite  comfortable.  On  New 
Year's  day,  to  have  seen  them  marching  around  the 
city  in  a  procession  five  thousand  strong,  with 
banners,  gay  regalia,  and  all  joyful  emblems,  cele 
brating  for  the  second  time  the  anniversary  of  their 
emancipation,  one  would  think  they  were  in  quite 
prosperous  circumstances.  But  there  are  thousands 
of  poor  widows,  with  large  families  of  children, 
who  cannot  get  work,  or  when  they  do  get  wash 
ing  or  other  work  to  do,  do  not  always  get  paid  for 
it.  There  are  many  old  and  helpless  ones,  who 

223 


224         LETTERS    TO    JOEL    CADBURY,   JR. 

suffer  much  with  rheumatism  and,  as  they  say,  "  old 
folks'  pains." 

There  is  a  hospital  near  me  with  about  a  hundred 
of  such  cases,  and  the  surgeon  in  charge  told  me 
that,  until  I  furnished  him  with  some  clothing  from 
that  you  sent  me,  some  of  these  old  people  had  not 
had  a  change  for  a  year,  and  were  nearly  naked.  I 
was  of  course  thankful  to  be  able  to  furnish  them 
some  of  the  nice  warm  English  clothing  which  you 
had  placed  at  my  disposal,  and  hope  most  sincerely 
that  the  blessing  of  Him  who  does  not  forget  his 
"poor  little  ones,"  may  come  to  the  hearts  and 
homes  of  those  who  sent.  Some  of  the  same  cloth 
ing  has  gone  twenty,  thirty,  and  fifty  miles  into  the 
country,  the  people  in  the  country  being  still  more 
destitute  than  those  in  the  city.  Many  of  the 
articles  in  the  cask  you  sent  me  were  precisely 
adapted  to  the  want,  being  garments  for  women  and 
children,  of  coarse  linsey  or  flannel,  and  cotton 
under-garments.  But  some  were  of  a  finer  and 
more  expensive  material  than  is  suitable. 

If  you  communicate  with  your  friends  on  the 
subject,  I  would  advise  that  very  little  be  sent  but 
what  is  coarse  and  strong.  Any  articles  of  luxury 
in  the  way  of  clothing,  it  is  better  not  to  give  them, 
as  these  should  be  the  reward  of  their  own  labor 
and  industry.  Books,  also,  are  of  very  little  use,  as 
few  can  read.  But  whole  suits  of  coarse  clothing 
for  women  and  children,  including  shoes  and  stock- 


LETTERS  TO  JOEL  CADBURY,  JR.    225 

ings,  can  never  come  amiss.  Gentlemen's  cast-off 
clothing  is  also  very  acceptable  for  the  old  men. 

Last  year  I  spent  a  good  deal  of  money  in  pro 
viding  them  with  garden-seeds  and  farming  utensils, 
as  it  was  impossible  for  those  in  the  country  to  get 
them  for  themselves.  This  was  a  great  help  to 
them,  though  they  say  that  the  owners  of  the  land 
came  around  in  the  fall  and  took  away  half  of 
everything.  This  was  twice  as  much  as  they  should 
have  taken,  one-fourth  part  being  the  usual  allow 
ance  for  the  land-holders.  I  hope  that  these  facts 
may  be  of  interest  to  those  who  are  helping  us  in 
our  endeavors  to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  these 
poor  people. 

The  field  is  wide  here,  and  the  need  very  great, 
Up  to  this  date,  I  have  had  nothing  but  what  you 
sent,  though  goods  have  been  sent  from  New  York, 
but  are  frozen  up  in  the  James  River,  which  I  hope 
to  have  in  a  few  days.  I  am  confident  there  will  be 
pressing  need  of  all  that  can  be  had ;  so  that  any 
aid  you  can  render  in  the  way  of  clothing  or  money, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  apply  as  well  as  I  can.  The 
winter  is  unusually  severe,  with  a  large  quantity  of 
snow.  For  distributing  in  the  country,  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  depend  on  the  agents  of  the  Bureau, 
who  are  very  kind  and  humane,  and  glad  to  forward 
clothing  to  the  poor. 

One  man  came  from  Sussex  County,  about  thirty 
miles  distant,  bringing  a  letter  from  his  former 

P 


226    LETTERS  TO  JOEL  CADBURY,  JR. 

owner,  who  was  known  to  and  endorsed  by  Major 
Stone,  Superintendent  of  the  District,  under  the 
Bureau.  It  stated  that  he  had  an  invalid  wife,  five 
small  children,  and  a  old  father  and  mother  to  pro 
vide  for.  That  he  was  "  a  man  of  most  exemplary 
character,  sober  and  industrious  habits,"  and  "I  do 
not  know  a  single  instance  of  misconduct  on  his 
part  during  his  life,  and  he  belonged  to  me  many 
years."  This  was  a  remarkable  case,  but  similar 
ones  are  of  daily  occurrence,  where  men,  with  large 
families,  are  straining  every  nerve  to  "  make  bread," 
as  they  express  it,  for  their  families,  but  where 
to  buy  clothing  is  out  of  the  question.  A  great 
number  of  widows  also  come,  of  whom  one  cannot 
help  wondering  how  they  can  get  bread,  in  these 
fearfully  hard  times,  for  themselves  and  children.  I 
was  very  glad,  also,  to  be  able  to  supply  clothing, 
from  these  English  packages,  to  many  of  the  chil 
dren  in  a  school  four  miles  from  the  city,  on  the 
Boydtown  Plank-road,  which  I  have  established  on 
my  own  responsibility.  It  is  in  a  neighborhood  in 
which  I  have  been  much  interested  for  a  long  time, 
and  is  taught  by  a  young  colored  woman,  who  has 
been  in  training  in  our  schools  ever  since  they  were 
established  here.  It  is  held  in  one  of  the  many 
log-houses  built  by  our  soldiers  during  the  war,  and 
is  on  land  owned  by  a  colored  woman.  The 
teacher,  Eliza  Alston,  is  well  qualified  to  instruct 
them,  and  I  always  find  the  children  looking  bright 


LETTERS  TO  JOEL  CADBURY,  JR.    22/ 

and  happy  with  their  books,  and  the  school  in  just  as 
good  order  as  those  taught  by  white  teachers.  There 
are  about  seventy  in  the  day-school,  ten  or  twelve  in 
the  night-school,  and  a  hundred  in  the  Sabbath- 
school.  Miss  Eliza  manages  it  all  herself,  conduct 
ing  with  perfect  propriety  and  success  the  singing, 
prayers,  and  lessons. 

Last  Sabbath,  I  went  out  to  visit  the  Sabbath- 
school.  It  was  quite  wonderful  to  see  them  all  so 
orderly  and  happy  looking.  When  I  recalled  to 
them  the  great  change  that  had  been  brought  about 
for  their  race  since  a  few  years  back,  when  their 
fathers  "  did  not  dare  so  much  as  to  look  on  a  piece 
of  paper  as  if  they  knew  anything,"  as  they  have 
often  told  me,  and  to  teach  a  colored  person  was  a 
crime,  to  be  punished  by  the  judge,  while  now  they 
could  sit  in  the  school-house  unmolested,  with  a 
competent  teacher  of  their  own  color ;  and  asked 
if  any  one  could  tell  me  to  whom  they  were  in 
debted  for  this  great  change  in  their  condition, 
many  hands  went  up,  and  one  little  barefooted 
fellow,  when  called  upon  to  answer,  said,  "  Yankees, 
I  reckon ;  "  while  another  reckoned  it  was  "  the  noon- 
ion  army." 

I  think  the  kind  friends  who  send  these  valuable 
gifts  of  clothing  for  the  naked,  may  rest  assured 
that,  in  most  cases,  they  are  helping  those  who  are 
trying  to  help  themselves.  It  is  very  true  that 
some  of  a  lazy  and  vagabond  character  come  to 


228    LETTERS  TO  JOEL  CADBURY,  JR. 

beg;  but  whenever  it  can  be  ascertained  that  they 
are  such,  they  are  sent  away  empty-handed,  our 
object  being,  so  far  as  possible,  to  stimulate  exer 
tion,  but  never  to  encourage  idleness. 

In  this  district  of  sixteen  counties,  there  are 
thousands  of  families  who  are  thankfully  enjoying 
the  benefits  of  these  Christian  charities,  and  taking 
up  the  great  burden  that  has  fallen  so  suddenly 
upon  them,  with  a  cheerful  courage.  The  hoes, 
spades,  and  garden-seeds  have  been  eagerly  sought 
for,  and  many  more  could  have  been  distributed 
to  advantage.  For  the  want  of  these  useful  arti 
cles,  much  land  in  the  country  will  remain  uncul 
tivated. 

Many  here  told  me  that  their  chief  dependence 
through  the  year  has  been  the  hoe  I  gave  them  last 
spring. 

"  She  has  given  me  a  spade  and  right  smart 
potatoes,"  said  a  woman,  to-day,  "  and  now  I  am 
going  home  and  going  right  to  digging." 

Many  of  the  men,  as  they  walk  off  with  their 
spades  over  their  shoulders,  a  bag  of  potatoes  on 
their  heads,  garden-seeds  in  their  pockets,  and  a 
bundle  of  clothing  under  their  arms,  throw  back 
from  a  beaming  countenance  a  glance  full  of  grati 
tude,  saying,  "  I  never  shall  forget  you,  Miss  Char 
lotte.  I  certainly  does  hope  you  '11  rest  in  the 
Kingdom,  when  you  dies." 


LETTERS    TO    JOEL    CADBURY,    JR.          22Q 

To  THE  SAME. 

PETERSBURG,  VA.,  April  i,  1867. 

DEAR  FRIEND.  —  Your  four  casks  of  clothing 
have  arrived,  and  been  nearly  all  distributed,  to  the 
great  comfort  and  relief  of  a  large  number  of  suffer 
ing  women  and  children. 

Nothing  in  the  way  of  gifts  to  these  poor  freed- 
women  could  have  been  more  appropriate  than  the 
heavy,  gray,  woollen  skirts,  and  nice  warm  j'ackets, 
contained  in  those  packages,  and  I  have  distributed 
them  with  the  greatest  satisfaction. 

Sixty- five  suits  of  assorted  sizes  have  been  sent 
to  a  hospital  of  colored  people  at  Farmville,  for 
which  an  urgent  requisition  had  been  on  hand  for 
a  long  time.  Many  of  the  patients  there  were  in  a 
suffering  condition,  having  nothing  wherewith  to 
change  the  ragged  garments  which  they  were 
obliged  to  wear  both  night  and  day.  The  remainder 
has  mostly  been  given  to  people  coming  from  the 
country,  distances  of  from  five  to  thirty  miles.  The 
men  generally  come  from  the  greater  distances,  to 
beg  for  wives  and  children.  The  women  to  whom 
these  garments  have  been  given  generally  come  in 
"  top-coats,"  as  they  call  their  outside  garments  of 
tenting,  bagging,  blankets,  or  other  refuse  of  the 
camps,  from  which,  as  they  say,  they  "  got  right 
smart  of  such  things ;  but  the  white  people  came 
round,  and  made  as  though  they  belonged  to  them, 


230    LETTERS  TO  JOEL  CADBURY,  JR. 

and  took  most  of  them  away."  These  garments 
having  been  worn  now  nearly  two  years  without 
change,  are  very  ragged,  or  patched  in  all  directions 
with  anything  that  can  be  had,  without  reference 
to  any  relation  in  color  or  quality,  and  often,  for 
want  of  buttons,  hooks  and  eyes,  or  common  pins, 
fastened  together  in  front  with  smooth  splinters  of 
wood.  If  one  can  get  a  soldier's  blouse,  or  blue 
cape  to  cover  her  shoulders,  she  is  particularly 
fortunate.  All  the  pieces  that  were  invoiced  as 
rugs  were  given,  and  very  thankfully  received,  for 
shawls.  Your  last  invoice  of  goods  has  been  a 
very  important  aid  in  relieving  severe  cases  of  suffer 
ing,  and  will  be  a  help  and  comfort  to  many  for  a 
year  to  come. 

With  many  thanks,  on  behalf  of  the  freed  people, 
to  yourself  and  the  friends  who  have  so  generously 
co-operated  with  me, 

I  remain,  yours  truly, 

C.  E.  McKAY. 

Mr.  JOEL  CADBURY,  Phila. 


THE   END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


i4i 


II  IN     JUN10196824" 
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NOV13  1375 


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General  Library 

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Berkeley 


963 


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0)57075751 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


